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MACMILLAN  AND  CO.,  Ltu.,  LONDON. 


MACMILLAN    AND   CO.,   Limited 

LONDON    ■    liOMBAV    •    CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW    VOKK    •    BOSTON    ■    CHICAGO 
DALLAS    .    SAN    FRANCISCO 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,   Ltd. 

TORONTO 


Peridore  .  .  .  zvcwed  her  with  his  pipe  to  draiv  near 


I-  n>>i!i.\f>iecc. 


-p.     84. 


NEW  CANTERBURY 

TALES 


'By   MAURICE    HEWLETT 


^  Die  mihi^  Davio'ta,  cajuni  pecus  ?    An  Mclibm  V 


.■'>•■'        ^V'*,*  ''"y    f'      .,o      ."..    '  i'j 


MACMILLAN    AND    CO.,    LIMITED 
ST.  MARTIN'S    STREET,   LONDON 

1912 


^ 


.V.  \':,"i    :/:  V'  -r  ^^  ; 


COPYRIGHT 

TransfoTed  to  Maciitillan  &>  Co.,  Ltd.,  1907 

Keprinted  191 2 

yzt/i?  a  hilling  Series,  1912 


H  ^^^ 


ADVERTISEMENT 

^  /^CURTESY     asks     me    to    record     hospitality 

offered  by  the  way  to  most    of   these   tales : 

^  to   The  Scrivener's  by  the  "  Fortnightly   Review  " ; 


to  Captain  Brazenheacfs  by  the  same  review  and 
"  Truth  "  of  New  York ;  to  the  Prioress  of 
Ambresbury's  by  the  same  and  "  ColHer's  Weekly" 
of  New  York ;  to  Richard  Smith's  Tale  by 
*'  Harper's  Magazine " ;  and  to  Percival  Perce- 
forest's  by  the  "  Anglo-Saxon  Review."  Dan 
Costard  (wisely,  as  some  think)  kept  his  story 
to  himself ;  but  very  likely  the  wisdom  was 
not  his. 


Co 
FREDERIC    HARRISON 


WITH 


SINCERE  RESPECT 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


The  Prologue 13 

The  Scrivener's  Tale  of  The  Countess  Alys  .         23 

Dan  Costard's  Tale  of  Pcridore  and  Paravail  .         76 

Captain     Salomon     Brazenhead's     Tale     of 

The  Half  Br  others  .         .         .         .128 

The  Prioress  of  Ambresbury's  Tale  of  Saint 

Gervase  of  Plcssy      .         .         .         .  .167 

Master  Richard  Smith's  Tale  of  The  Cast  of 

the  Apple 223 

Percival    Perceforest's   Tale   of  Engenio   and 

Galeotto 262 


THE     PROLOGUE 


New  Canterbury  Tales 


THE    PROLOGUE 

T3RAY  do  not  suppose  that  Chaucer's  were  the 
only  pilgrims  to  woo  the  Canterbury  way  with 
stories,  nor  that  theirs  was  the  only  road  by  which 
to  seek  the  Head  of  Thomas.  His  people  may 
have  set  the  fashion  and  himself  a  tantalizing 
standard  of  attainment ;  but  that  is  a  poor-hearted 
chronicler  who  withholds  from  a  tale  because  some 
other  has  told  one  well.  I  have  here  the  diversions 
of  a  devout  sodality,  which  followed  Chaucer's — 
and  in  point  of  time  (remember)  at  no  such  long 
interval.  Their  journey,  however,  took  longer  to 
perform,  their  tales  (for  reasons  which  I  am  not 
bound  to  divulge,  and  shall  not)  were  reported  in 
the  common  speech  of  us  all.  At  least  in  the 
matter  of  roads — whether  Canterbury  or  entertain- 
ment be  the  end — our  primum  mobile  may  not 
engross  the  market.  The  main  stream  of  piety  was 
no  more  his  than  was  London  the  well-head  of 
England.     All  pilgrims  from  the  West,  and  all  they 

13 


NEW    CANTERBURY   TALES 

who,  coming  from  oversea,  touched  our  land  at 
Southampton,  journeyed  out  from  Winchester,  at 
Guildford  joined  hands,  after  that  climbed  the  ridge 
of  the  North  Downs  (or  climbed  it  half),  and  never 
left  it  again  until  the  Medway  chose  that  they  must. 
So  doing,  tending  from  old  English  burgh  to  old 
Roman,  they  followed  a  road  incredibly  older  than 
that  from  London ;  for  long  before  their  day  or 
Saint  Thomas's,  English  feet,  Latin  feet,  British 
and  (if  the  tale  be  true)  Trojan  feet  had  trudged  it, 
bringing  mine  up  from  the  West  to  be  smithied  in 
the  forests  of  Sussex,  then  loaded  into  galleys  whose 
helmsmen  knew  all  the  shoals  at  the  Nore.  You 
may  well  doubt  whether  there  had  been  any  other 
path  for  slave  or  legionary  or  wild  adventurer  of  the 
North  through  those  impenetrable  wealden  woods. 
My  pilgrims,  then,  took  this  ancient  road,  assembling 
for  the  purpose  at  Winchester,  as  nearly  as  possible 
upon  the  Feast  of  Saints  Philip  and  Jacob,  which 
was  in  the  year  of  Christ's  reign  fourteen-hundred 
and  fifty,  and  in  the  twenty-eighth  year  of  that  of 
King  Henry  VL,  a  pious,  unhappy  and  nearly 
imbecile  monarch,  quite  damned  in  a  magnanimous 
wife. 

The  Prioress  of  Ambresbury  (in  W^ilts)  was  head 
and  shoulders  of  this  company,  a  well-preserved, 
stately  lady,  born  Touchett  of  Bcmerton,  more 
tender   than    she    looked    or   her    station    required, 

14 


PROLOGUE 

having  a  quick  spot  in  her  heart  which  minstrels, 
young   women    and    boys    soon    learned    to    find. 
Travelling    privately,    as   became    her   degree,    she 
brought  with   her   a    numerous   retinue,   of    which 
one   only,   Dan   Costard   her    confessor,   is    of  our 
direct  concern — a  loose-skinned  old  man  with  mild 
blue  eyes,  coloured  (as  it  seemed)  by  that  Heaven 
which  he  daily  sought ;  and  another  of  some  little 
interest,    the    immediate    cause     of   pilgrimage    to 
the    whole    party.     This   was    Mistress    Mawdleyn 
Touchett,   niece   of  the    Prioress,    daughter   of  her 
brother  Sir  Simon  Touchett  of  Bemerton,   Knight, 
a     very    fine     girl  ;    whom      Percival      Perceforest 
(Sir  Simon's  footpage)  had  deplorably  loved.     The 
fact   discovered    beyond   possible   denial — if    either 
had  sought  to  deny  what  exalted  each  so  much — , 
stripes  and  dismissal  followed  for  the  youth,  disgrace 
and   the   Convent    of    Ambresbury   for   the    young 
lady.     While  Percival  nursed  his  bruised  back  and 
wounded   heart   in    Wiltshire    ditches,   his   beloved 
was  schooled  by  the  nuns,  one  of  whom  was  kinder 
than  she  should  have  been.    Saint  Thomas  beckoned 
the  Prioress  to  Canterbury,  Mawdleyn  was  hooded 
for  the  journey  ;    admonished   by   that   too   kindly 
Sister  Petronilla,  Percival  Perceforest  limped  behind. 
How  he  met  with  his  mistress  at  Winchester,  what 
fortune  he  had,   how  he  was  enabled  to  be  of  the 
party  and  tell  the  tale  which  undoubtedly  he  did  tell, 

15 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

belongs  not  to  this  history,  full  as  it  is  of  diverting 
matter,  but  is  rather  a  history  of  itself.  I  ask  you 
to  be  more  concerned  with  the  tales  than  the  tellers. 
Percival  Perceforest  (who  was  born  in  Gloucester) 
was  a  lady-faced  youth  with  a  long  nose,  a  sharp 
chin  and  hot  green  eyes.  He  had  a  very  small 
mouth,  and  knew  most  of  the  Romaunt  de  la  Rose 
by  heart,  as  well  as  the  Songs  of  Horatius  Flaccus. 

Of  Captain  Brazenhead  some  mention  must  be 
made,  of  Captain  Salomon  Brazenhead,  fertile  in 
wiles,  formerly  of  Milan,  late  of  Burgundy,  now  a 
Duke  of  York's  man,  friend  of  the  Captain  of  Kent. 
Of  his  hair,  of  his  nose,  of  his  thirst,  his  two  scars, 
his  notched  forefinger,  his  magniloquent  conver- 
sation, I  prefer  to  be  silent  at  this  time.  He 
obtruded  himself  upon  the  notice  of  the  Prioress  of 
Ambresbury,  he  called  himself  (and  she  believed 
him)  her  friend ;  he  was  heart  and  soul  in  the 
trying  business  of  Percival  Perceforest  and 
Mavvdleyn  Touchett ;  he  made  Sister  Petronilla 
dream  dreams  and  tell  a  series  of  fibs :  all  for 
reasons.  What  is  this,  or  what  are  they,  to  our 
purpose  ?  But  that  he  told  a  tragic  tale  of  Italy  is 
certain,  for  here  at  p.  128  you  will  find  it.  Let  that 
suffice  of  Captain  Salomon. 

The  Prioress's  pilgrimage  was  performed  apart, 
I  have  said.  This  means  that  she  chose  not  to 
go  at  the  great   pilgrim-seasons  of  Christmas   and 

j6 


PROLOGUE 

Midsummer,  when  the  roads  were  full,  the  towns 
hives,  the  chapels  reeking,  the  whole  country-side 
aswarm ;  but  rather  in  seclusion,  with  her  own 
servants  about  her,  her  familiar  friends  for  her  hosts  of 
the  night,  and  at  her  journey's  end  space,  that  so  she 
and  Saint  Thomas  might  be  free  to  hob-nob  together. 
This  was  her  desire,  very  nearly  achieved — yet 
not  quite.  As  you  know,  Percival  Perceforest  went 
with  her,  and  Captain  Brazenhead.  At  the  last 
moment  three  others  petitioned  for  her  society 
and  comfort  in  terms  too  humble  to  be  refused. 
One  was  a  Scrivener  of  London,  and  very  timid 
man;  the  other  a  certain  Master  Smith,  Richard 
Smith  mariner,  who  came  from  Kingston-upon- 
Hull  and  had  left  his  ship  in  the  Medina  River.  He 
pleaded  the  delicacy  of  his  foreign  wife,  and  the 
Prioress  could  not  deny  him.  She  appointed  the 
morrow  of  the  Feast  for  these  persons  to  join  her. 
Until  then  she  was  guest  of  the  Abbot  of  Hyde: 
they  were  to  meet  her  at  the  gates  at  such  and  such 
an  hour,  in  travelling  trim — and  they  did.  Each 
of  them  contributed  a  tale  to  the  week's  solace,  and 
one  of  them  a  good  deal  more.  But  of  that  in 
its  place. 

Here,  then,  you  have  the  tellers  of  these  New 
Canterbury  Tales:  the  Lady  Prioress  of  Ambres- 
bury,  Master  Corbet  the  Scrivener  of  London,  Dan 
Costard  the  Prioress'  Confessor,  Smith  the  shipman 

17  B 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

of  Hull,  Captain  Brazenhead  formerly  of  Milan, 
and  Percival  Perceforest,  who  was  born  in 
Gloucester.  The  first  day  brought  them  to  New 
Alresford,  the  second  to  Waverley  Abbey,  the  third 
to  Reigate  on  the  side  of  the  hill,  the  fourth  to  the 
Abbey  of  Boxley  in  Kent,  and  the  fifth  to  Christ- 
church,  Canterbury.     Now  then,  Pergite,  Piericies. 


i8 


THE   SCRIVENER'S  TALE 


THE    SCRIVENER'S   TALE 

OF 

THE    COUNTESS   ALYS 

nPHE  manner  of  the  beginning  of  these  tales  was 
this.  Percival  Perceforest  had  sung  a  good 
part  of  the  Romaunt  de  la  Rose,  and  sung  it  well, 
in  a  high,  clear,  unfaltering  voice  which  was  neither 
proper  man's  nor  certain  boy's,  but  of  the  sort  we 
call  alto.  This  intrigued,  before  it  wearied,  Smith 
the  shipman,  but  delighted  Captain  Brazenhead, 
who  had  (in  a  sort)  adopted  the  youth.  At  the  end 
of  his  recital,  '  Is  this  young  man  your  nephew, 
soldier  ? '  asked  the  shipman.  Captain  Brazenhead 
flicked  upwards  his  moustachios. 

'  I  would  like  to  see  the  older  man  who  denies 
it,'  he  said  with  a  glitter  in  his  eye.  For  Percival 
was  by  no  means  his  nephew. 

'I  have  nephews,'  says  the  shipman,  'who  sing 
tenor,  and  nieces  who  sing  treble.  And  the  Pope, 
I  hear,  hath  nieces.     How  now,  master  ? ' 

Captain  Brazenhead  was  meditating,  stroking  his 

21 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

nose.  'Now,'  said  he  quietly,  'now  could  I  cut 
thee  in  half,  thou  shotten  herring.' 

'  Let  me  go,  wife,  let  me  go  ! '  cried  the  shipman, 
who  was  strangling.  Captain  Brazenhead  had 
stroked  his  nose  till  it  burned  :  there  might  have 
been  bloodshed  within  three  miles  of  Winchester. 

Here  the  Scrivener  intervened. 

'  Madame,'  said  this  worthy  man  to  the  Prioress, 
*  instead  of  singing  by  rote,  instead  of  hot  debate, 
I  perceive  another  pastime.  I  propose  a  tale  from 
one  of  this  company,  all  in  the  manner  of  that 
noble  clerk  and  fellow  of  my  mystery,  Master 
Geoffrey  Chaucer,  of  whom  doubtless  you  have 
heard.  What  is  more  to  the  purpose,  I  (if  your 
ladyship  please)  will  begin  with  one  of  the  most 
fruitful  narratives  you  ever  heard ;  and  although 
rhyme  shall  be  lacking  (for  I  am  no  rhymester  for 
choice),  I  promise  you  the  other  elements  of  art, 
as  balance,  careful  heed  to  longs  and  shorts, 
proportion,  exquisite  choice,  these  things  (I  promise 
you)  shall  not  be  lacking.  If  that  will  content  your 
ladyship  and  this  amiable  company,  I  shall  myself 
be  contented.     More  than  that  I  can  scarcely  say.' 

*  I  see  on  the  hill  the  good  town  of  Alresford,' 
said  Captain  Brazenhead.  '  There  should  be  beer 
there,  for  my  poor  nephew's  dry  throat.' 

'  I  shall  be  done  before  we  reach  that  town,* 
replied  the  Scrivener.     They  were  now  out  of  that 

22 


THE   SCRIVENER'S   TALE 

open  country  where  Kingsworthy  stands,  and  in 
the  deepening  valley  of  the  Itchen.  Itchen  Abbas, 
with  a  grange  of  the  Abbot  of  Hyde's,  was  past. 
They  saw  the  grey  downs  on  either  side  of  them, 
a  long  white  hill  in  front,  with  dust  where  strayed 
a  flock  of  sheep  :  beyond  that  New  Alresford  must 
be  hidden  in  trees. 

The  Scrivener  was  bid  tell  his  tale.  Percival's 
hand  rested  on  Mawdleyn's  stirrup,  touching 
Mawdleyn's  foot. 

Here  follows  the  Scrivener's  Tale  of 

The  King  and  the  Countess  Alys 

*  First  I  shall  tell  you,'  said  the  Scrivener,  *  How 
the  fair  Countess  Alys  lived  at  Wark  like  a  nesting 
bird. 

*  I  daresay  you  have  heard  of  our  very  famous 
King  and  liege  lord  Edward,  the  third  after  the 
Conquest ;  who,  to  enforce  his  reasonable  claims 
upon  that  country,  smote  France  a  buffet  on  either 
ear,  took  prisoners  the  king  and  the  king's  son,  wore 
their  lilies  lightly  on  his  shield,  left  them  (too 
heavy  a  burden)  to  his  successors,  and  (in  fine)  did 
all  that  was  reasonable  to  requite  the  indignities  put 
upon  his  ancestors,  King  Henry  of  the  Short  Coat, 
King  Richard  Cordelion,  and  King  John  the  Pope's 
footstool,  who  (as  they  say)  did  more  valiantly  in 
bed,  thinking  what  he  would  perform,  than  out  of  it 

23 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

in  true  performance.  I  make  no  doubt  but  you 
have  heard  of  him,  and  mostly  to  his  advantage, 
since  God  our  Saviour  hath  so  ordered  our  mundane 
affairs  that  the  good  a  man  does  lives  longer  than 
the  evil,  and  so  the  Devil  is  denied  even  infamy  in 
the  long  run.  This  being  the  case,  as  I  assure 
you  it  is,  do  not  suppose  that  I  hold  enemy's  cards 
if  I  recall  to  you  a  deed  of  this  King's  not  so  well 
done  as  others  of  his :  no,  but  my  zeal  for  a  noble 
lady  can  only  be  served  at  his  expense  ;  and  yet 
I  believe  he  can  well  afford  it.  Besides  all  that,  the 
tale  is  true. 

'  This  King  Edward,  being  a  famous  warrior,  had 
a  huge  frame  after  the  antick  fashion  of  his  fore- 
fathers, shoulders  like  a  platform,  massy  legs,  arms 
like  towers,  the  chest  of  a  town  bull.  A  fair  long 
beard  he  had  down  to  his  middle,  a  square  bulging 
brow,  a  face  hatchet-shaped,  and  light  blue  ej'es  that 
glittered  in  his  head  like  candle  flames.  He  was 
ruddy  and  tawny-haired  like  all  his  race,  which 
never  bred  black  men  to  endure,  a  stupendous  lover 
of  women,  most  intrepid  in  fight,  ruthless  in  pur- 
pose, speedy  of  counsel ;  beloved  therefore  by  all 
them  who  fought  hard,  determined  strongly,  and 
jumped  their  conclusions:  by  none  more  than  by 
Sir  William  Montacute,  Earl  of  Salisbury  and 
Warden  of  the  Northern  March,  who  would  have 
been  at  his  duty  at  the  time  of  my  tale  if  he  had 

24 


THE   SCRIVENER'S   TALE 

not  been  in  the  King  of  France  his  prison  of 
Chatelet,  so  held  ever  since  the  stampede  of  Lille 
in  Flanders.  As  it  was,  the  Countess  his  wife,  with 
Sir  William  Montacute  his  sister's  son,  held  on  his 
account  the  lonely  Castle  of  Wark,  which  sits  upon 
the  south  bank  of  the  Tweed,  watching  the  brown 
slopes  of  Scotland ;  and  sees  the  border  thieves, 
shaggy,  small-eyed  men,  come  creeping  round  the 
sunny  rocks ;  and  waits,  knowing  it  can  give  as 
good  as  they.' 

*  Man,'  said  Dan  Costard,  the  Prioress's  confessor, 

*  Your  periods  are  too  long.  You  are  out  of  breath 
already.' 

'  There  are  no  better  periods  in  the  world  than 
my    periods,'     said     the     Scrivener      comfortably. 

*  Please  to  attend.' 

'  Now,  this  Countess  Alys  was  a  beautiful  young 
woman,  not  turned  twenty,  the  second  wife  of 
her  husband,  of  great  descent  (being  born  De 
Grandison),  thinnish  and  rather  tall,  with  a  bosom 
of  snow,  pale  oval  face  and  long  brown  hair  close 
about  it ;  with  full  blue  eyes,  a  little  mouth,  a  long 
straight  nose,  a  sharp  chin  and  a  narrow  neck.' 

Smith  the  shipman  ticked  off  these  parts  on 
Percival's  unconscious  person,  even  while  Percival 
in  adoration  was  ticking  them  off  on  his  Mawdleyn's, 
and  Mawdleyn's  brown  eyes  melted  under  the  fire 
of  his.     '  All  these  he  hath,  with  a  voice  like  a  reed 

25 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

pipe,  and  calleth  himself  man  !  Go  to  :  I  will  plumb 
this  mystery  anon,'  said  the  former  to  himself  with 
many  a  shake  of  the  head. 

'  Withal,'  the  Scrivener  continued,  '  she  had 
a  wild  look,  with  some  audacity  and  much  innocent 
hardihood  ;  as  though,  like  Taillefer  at  Senlac,  she 
played  with  her  virtue,  tossing  it  up,  but  alw^ays 
catching  it  again.  This  was  the  Countess  Alys,  very 
young,  who  held  the  Castle  of  Wark  against  the 
Scots  with  the  aid  of  a  few  vassals  and  her  husband's 
sister's  son,  and  did  most  honourably  all  that  per- 
tained to  the  estate  of  a  great  man's  wife ;  being 
a  tender  stepmother  to  his  grown  children, 
a  careful  spender  of  his  house  and  gear,  foster- 
mother  to  his  servants,  keeper  of  his  honour  and 
bed,  and  (when  he  was  at  home)  content  with 
nothing  so  much  as  to  sit  by  his  knee  or  upon 
it,  cheerfully,  meekly,  wholly  submissive  to  his 
pleasures  or  reproofs.  All  this  I  find  to  be  quite 
as  it  should  be.  The  Earl  of  Salisbury  might 
have  been  her  father,  but  he  was  her  good  husband 
as  it  happened.  And  as  she  revered  him,  so 
he  gave  her  full  confidence  and,  while  he  was  in 
prison,  his  honour  to  keep. 

'  Of  his  children,  two  fine  boys  some  five  years 
younger  than  herself,  she  took  the  greatest  care. 
What  poor  lore  she  had  of  her  own  she  imparted  to 
them :    love,   namely,  of  various   sorts.     The   first, 

26 


THE   SCRIVENER'S   TALE 

Love  of  God  ;  comprehended  in  that,  Love  of  father 
and  mother  ;  dependent  upon  that,  Love  of  race. 
In  this  manner  she  grew  in  them  a  pretty  garden  of 
sweet  briars  whereon  some  day  the  rose  itself  of 
Love  might  come  to  perfection.  For  the  rest,  she 
had  confided  them  to  the  care  of  a  young  man 
named  Lancelot,  a  scholar  of  Ghent,  well  versed  in 
poetry,  philosophy  and  all  the  gentle  arts,  hopeful  to 
become  a  great  clerk. 

*  Now  this  was  the  position  of  affairs  at  Wark, 
and  this  their  quiet  order,  when  the  noble  King 
Edward  was  twenty-five  years  old,  a  twelve-year 
King  by  no  means  sated  of  glory  in  field  or  bower. 
Far  from  that,  he  sought  the  strife  of  both  sorts 
wherever  it  might  be  found,  but  chiefly  in  the  north- 
ern parts  of  his  realm — for  such,  after  the  precepts 
of  his  ancestors,  he  always  held  Scotland  to  be.  At 
this  moment  opportunity  was  not  denied  him,  seeing 
that  King  David  of  that  country  was  paying  a  visit 
to  his  ally  the  King  of  France :  therefore  our  King 
made  a  great  invasion  of  the  lands  about  Berwick  ; 
burning,  pillaging,  laying  them  waste,  taking  his 
diversion  ;  then  (as  the  winter  came  on  quickly) 
withdrawing  himself  to  his  good  town  of  York,  to 
keep  his  Christmas,  rest  his  men,  and  make  prepa- 
rations for  a  new  inrush  as  soon  as  the  passes  of  the 
hills  should  be  open.  But  in  the  meantime  King 
David,  sailing    from    France   with    a   power,   came 

27 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

home,  and  touched  land  at  Montrose.  They  tell  him 
of  the  unhappy  state  of  his  southern  parts,  not  with- 
out tears.  "  Have  at  you,  dog  of  an  Englishman," 
says  King  David,  a  fierce  man  of  considerable  inches. 
Then  and  there,  amid  the  mists  of  November  (which 
the  Scots,  who  live  mostly  in  fogs,  care  little  about), 
he  with  his  force  came  down  into  the  Merse,  and 
drew  out  in  keen  lines  from  Kelso  even  unto  Berwick. 
King  David  himself  with  a  good  company  of  earls 
and  barons  laid  siege  to  the  Castle  of  Wark,  wherein 
(like  a  nesting  bird)  the  young  Countess  Alys  sat 
close,  as  might  be  upon  her  eggs — which  were  the 
gear,  the  sons,  and  the  fair  fame  of  her  lord  in 
prison. 

*  When  first  this  danger  affronted  her — the  shock 
of  one  dense  night — it  was  like  a  slap  in  the  face, 
which  caused  her  spirit,  flushing,  to  rise  high  and 
meet  it.  When  soon  it  encompassed  her  on  every 
side,  so  that  the  very  woods  and  shaws  round  about 
the  castle  lawns  were  full  of  armed  Scots,  then  her 
spirit  soared.  That  good  Earl,  her  husband,  would 
have  been  proud  of  his  wife.  Soft-faring,  delicate, 
silk-envvrapt  as  she  was,  she  watched  out  the  cruel 
winter  days  from  the  tower-top,  whether  the  wet 
mist  clung  about  her  and  drenched  her  hair,  or 
a  rude  tingling  gale  from  the  west  blew  it  out  like 
a  flag  before  her  face,  or  the  north  wind  dried  her 
thin,  or  driving  sleet  made  her  figure  dim  :  what- 

28 


THE   SCRIVENER'S   TALE 

ever  the  smack  of  weather  might  be,  she  stood  by 
the  banner  of  Montacute  watching  (though  she 
could  not  beat  off)  the  eager  hordes  from  Scotland. 
King  David,  they  say,  with  his  earls  rode  often  close 
under  the  tower  to  hold  parley  with  her.  "  Come 
you  down,  dear  madam,  come  away  down,"  he 
would  say,  "  before  I  send  to  bring  you  down. 
I  promise  you  a  snug  bower  in  Edinburgh,  and 
a  king  for  your  paramour."  Or,  again,  he  would 
bid  them  raise  towers  against  her  tower,  or  lay 
mines  against  her  mines,  or  cast  great  stones  out 
of  engines  to  batter  her  walls,  or  make  rams  of 
tree-trunks,  or  raise  up  scaling-ladders,  so  that 
thieves  and  cut-throats  with  knives  in  their  mouths 
might  swarm  over  moat  and  drawbridge  and  drown 
all  her  little  empire  in  blood.  The  Countess  Alys, 
with  small,  high,  unfaltering  head,  watched  all  this 
meditated  rapine,  met  attack  by  attack,  and  defied 
(though  she  framed  no  words)  the  defiance  of 
King  David.  So  at  last,  about  Christmas  time, 
the  snow  being  very  deep,  the  King  of  Scots  sat 
down  behind  the  wattles  of  his  trenches,  saying, 
"  If  we  cannot  burn  them  out  or  cut  them 
out,  we  will  starve  them  in,  by  the  chief  gods  of 
Scotland." 

'  So  the  year  wore  from  Christmas  to  Epiphany, 
and  so  to  Candlemas,  with  frost  and  great  drifts  of 
snow,  until  February  came,  and  a  spell  of  warm  wet 

29 


NEW   CANTERBURY  TALES 

weather.  Then  the  Countess  said  to  her  kinsman 
Montacute,  "  This  open  weather  makes  me  hungry, 
cousin.  I  think  that  nothing  should  hinder  the 
King  now.     Surely  he  will  come." 

*  **  Madame,"  says  Montacute,  "  why  should  he 
come  ?  He  knows  nothing  of  your  peril,  and  Ber- 
wick (not  Wark)  is  the  apple  of  his  eye.  When  he 
moves  out  of  York  he  will  march  on  Berwick,  I  lay 
my  head." 

'  The  Countess  looked  doubtfully  forth  upon  the 
rain,  how  it  carved  for  itself  channels  in  the  pitted 
snow.  "  I  cannot  let  our  good  people  starve, 
William,"  she  said.  "  My  lord  might  be  displeased 
with  me.  And  he  would  be  sorry ;  for  these  men 
have  served  me  well." 

*  "  One  should  ride  to  the  King  then,"  says 
Montacute. 

' "  The  Scots  would  have  something  to  say  to 
that,"  the  Countess  considered. 

*  Then  Montacute  asked,  "  Can  you  hold  out 
against  I  come  again  ?  " 

'  "  God  will  reward  you,"  says  she,  not  answering 
his  question ;  and  he,  who  had  not  expected  an 
answer,  says,  "  Good,  I  go." 

*  So  Montacute  rode  out  under  cover  of  the  dark 
and  a  furious  rainstorm,  clean  through  the  Scottish 
camp.  He  reaches  York  and  sees  the  King  of 
England  taking  his  pastime  with  ladies  in  his  hall. 

30 


THE   SCRIVENER'S   TALE 

He  tells  him  all  the  case  of  Wark.  **  By  our  Lord," 
cries  the  King,  "  you  are  better  now  than  not  at  all, 
Montacute  ;  but  you  are  fully  late." 

'  "  Sire,"  says  Montacute,  "  I  dared  not  leave  my 
cousin  Madame  de  Salisbury  before." 

*  "  Get  back  the  way  you  came  in,"  says  the  King, 
"  and  bid  your  lady  expect  me  soon."  So  Montacute 
took  his  leave. 


*  Now  you  shall  hear,'  said  the  Scrivener, 
*  how  love  smote  the  King  of  England  on  both 
cheeks. 

'  Montacute  got  into  Wark  as  he  had  got  out  of  it, 
in  safety  and  honour,  the  cause  of  death  to  two 
Scots.  He  put  heart  into  the  young  Countess,  who 
saw  (as  it  were)  her  children  saved  from  the  jaws  of 
the  dragon.  You  may  be  sure  that  she  did  not  fail 
to  let  the  King  of  Scots  know  what  he  might  expect 
if  he  stayed  ;  for  this  was  according  to  the  usages  of 
war  in  an  honourable  age.  Now  King  David,  for 
his  part,  believed  what  she  told  him,  as  (having 
been  a  whole  winter  in  her  near  company)  he  could 
not  fail  to  do  either.  He  bade  her  a  courteous 
farewell,  promising  to  come  again  when  times  were 
better  to  renew  his  suit ;  and  withdrew  his  forces 
over  Tweed,  and  fell  back  on  Jedburgh,  secure 
among   hills    and    morasses.      The    Countess   with 

31 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

a  beating  heart  threw  wide  the  doors  of  Wark,  and 
let  the  sweet  air  in. 

*  She  made  great  preparations  to  receive  the  King, 
Hege  lord  of  her  lord.  From  the  storehouses  she 
drew  abundance  of  scented  rushes  for  the  floors  of 
hall  and  chambers ;  she  hung  out  the  arras  and 
painted  cloths,  set  candles  of  wax  (three  pounds  to 
a  candle)  all  about,  and  bade  her  huntsmen  kill 
stags,  swans,  herons,  boars  and  salmon.  When 
they  told  her  that  Tweed  was  ice-bound  yet,  so 
that  the  salmon  could  not  get  up,  she  threw  back 
her  head  in  the  high  way  she  had,  and  bade  them 
break  the  ice  with  mattocks  as  far  as  Berwick  weirs. 
This  must  needs  be  done.  Men  of  hers  and  horses 
went  to  meet  the  king  at  Hexham  and  bring 
him  home  by  way  of  the  North  Tyne  and  Redesdale 
into  the  Vale  of  Tweed.  There  finally,  outside  the 
walls  of  war-worn  Wark,  the  Countess  Alys  met 
him  a  first  time,  she  standing  under  a  canopy  upon 
a  red  cloth  of  estate,  her  women  with  her,  nobly 
dressed  in  a  close  gown  of  blue  and  silver,  with 
a  great  head-dress  of  silver,  and  ermine  fur  all  round 
her  neck,  and  all  round  the  hem  of  her  gown. 
Her  eyes  were  very  bright,  in  her  cheeks  was  great 
colour,  extremely  noble  fire.  When  she  saw  the 
King  she  knelt  down  upon  the  cloth,  her  women 
still  standing,  until  Montacute  had  helped  him  to 
alight  ;  and  then  she  got  up  and,  running  forward, 

J2 


THE   SCRIVENER'S   TALE 

knelt  again  before  him ;  and  took  his  mailed  hand 
and  kissed  it ;  but  said  nothing,  because,  being 
quite  young,  she  was  afraid  of  the  glory  of  kings. 

*  Now,  had  this  been  a  lady  of  common  favour, 
the  King  would  have  picked  her  up  and  kissed  her ; 
for  that  was   the   hardy  way  of   his   race,  signally 
exemplified  in  himself.     But  instead — at  this   near 
sight   of  her   starry  beauty — he   grew  red   as  fire, 
began  to  tremble,  got  a  mist  across  his  eyes,  and 
was  choked   by  the   shortness   of  his   breath.     No 
more  than  she  had  he  his  words  at  command,  no 
more  than  she  did  he  know  how  to  be  bold.     0  dea 
certs !  was  his  thought,  and,  /  am  a  sinful  man :  but 
whereas  she  looked  fast  on  the  ground,  he  looked 
fast  at  her,  awfully  absorbed  and  wrought  upon,  for- 
getful of  time,  place,  errand,  degree,  and  business  in 
the  fresh  and  rare  beauty  of  her  who  knelt  at  his 
disposal.     As  woman,  she  gained  composure  first, 
and    "  Sire,"    said   tremblingly,    "  I    beg    you    be 
welcome  in  my  lord's  name  to  his  house  of  Wark." 
"Ha,  madame!  God's  face,"  says  the  King,  "believe 
me  glad  to  be  here."     She  dared  to  look  up  to  his 
face  at  these  honest  words  ;    whereby  she   saw  in 
what  way  he  was  glad,  and  looked  down  again,  all 
confused.     So   she   busied    herself  with  welcoming 
those  who  stood  by — the    Earl    of  Pembroke,   her 
brother  De  Grandison,  Sire  Walter  de   Manny,  the 
Lord    Reginald   Cobham,    Sire    Richard    Stamford, 

53  C 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

and  others.  Herein  and  in  other  needful  business 
her  cousin  Montacute  helped  her  with  prudence  : 
then  came  also  the  two  boys  of  the  Earl's,  William 
and  John  de  Montacute,  with  them  their  tutor  Master 
Lancelot,  to  make  their  obeisance  to  the  King. 
He  by  this  time  had  recovered  his  nature,  and 
behaved  greatly. 

'  Heartened  somewhat  to  play  her  necessary  part, 
she  took  him  by  the  hand,  saying  as  cheerfully  as  she 
could,  "  Come,  Sire,  repose  yourself  awhile.  After- 
wards you  can  pursue  your  enemies,  who  (at  the 
mere  bruit  of  your  coming)  have  taken  to  flight." 
The  King  had  nothing  to  say  but  "  Ha,  madame,  is 
it  so  ?  "  or  "  Ha,  madame,  indeed  !  "  no  words  for 
a  great  king,  in  my  opinion ;  and  suffered  himself  to 
be  led  whithersoever  the  lady  chose. 

*  After  he  had  bathed  himself  and  put  on  a  purple 
velvet  gown,  his  circlet  of  gold  and  collar  of  gold, 
she  took  him  into  the  hall,  where  dinner  was  served 
to  him  alone ;  she  being  cup-bearer,  Montacute 
sewer  of  the  meats,  and  the  two  boys  carrying,  one 
the  ewer,  basin  and  towel,  the  other  the  manchets 
of  bread.  The  lords  were  attended  by  her  high 
officers  of  the  household  :  all  was  done  in  noble 
order,  with  abundance  to  eat  and  drink,  with 
minstrels  in  the  gallery,  dogs  under  the  tables,  a  fool 
in  a  corner,  and  silver  trumpets  at  the  buttery  door 
to  cry  the  courses.     All  this  to  little  purpose.     The 

34 


THE   SCRIVENER'S   TALE 

King  picked  at  his  food,  said  nothing,  looked  ever  at 
his  plate.  But  he  drank  cup  after  cup  from  those 
two  fair  hands,  and  inflamed  his  love  without 
clearing  his  understanding.  Whereafter,  seeing  he 
could  find  no  way  at  present  of  achieving  what  he 
so  ardently  desired,  he  sat  moody  and  silent ;  but 
men  perceived  that  the  muscles  of  his  upper  jaw 
worked  in  and  out  hke  a  mill  as  he  ground  his 
thoughts  over  and  over.  The  Countess  Alys 
perceived  it  too.  "  Alack,"'  she  thought,  "  the  King 
is  not  content  with  me."  And  to  Lancelot,  the 
boys'  governor,  whom  she  greatly  regarded,  she 
said,  "  What  have  I  done  amiss  by  our  lord  the 
King,  think  you,  Lancelot  ? "  "  My  word,  madame," 
this  one  replies,  with  a  sick  troubled  face,  "  I  do  not 
like  to  consider  of  the  matter."  "  Will  you  ask  my 
brother  De  Grandison  for  me,  Lancelot  ?  "  she  asks 
him.  "  I  beg  you  to  excuse  me,  madame,"  says 
the  young  man.  So  she  turned  away  from  him 
comfortless. 

'  But  she  thought,  "  If  I  do  not  content  the  King 
I  shall  dishonour  my  husband  in  his  absence. 
I  must  never  do  that."  So  she  went  herself  to  her 
brother  De  Grandison,  who  told  her,  that  no  doubt 
the  King  had  private  reasons  for  his  discontent,  and 
no  doubt  would  impart  them  if  he  were  asked.  And 
"  I  advise  you,  sister,  to  speak  with  the  King 
yourself,"  said  this  De  Grandison.     She  waited  till 

35 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

they  had  taken  away  the  tables  and  the  company 
had  scattered,  then  watched  to  see  what  would 
follow,  or  what  the  King  would  do.  He  sent  out  the 
Earl  of  Pembroke  to  make  ready  the  host ;  "  For," 
says  he  in  a  ringing  voice,  "  I  will  not  stay  here,  but 
pursue  the  Scots  incontinent  and  sleep  to-night  in 
their  villainous  country."  After  this  he  goes  to 
a  deep-set  window  in  the  hall  where  there  is  a  seat, 
and  sits  there  alone,  drumming  with  his  fingers  on 
the  woodwork,  one  foot  only  restless,  tip-tapping 
under  his  gown.  The  Countess  takes  her  courageous 
heart  in  both  hands,  goes  and  stands  behind  the 
King.  "  I  beseech  my  lord  the  King,"  she  says,  out 
of  breath,  *'  to  tell  me  wherein  I  have  done  amiss." 
The  King  turns  her  a  red  and  misty  face.  "  O  God, 
madame,"  he  says  brokenl}',  "  the  mischief  was 
done  at  your  birth." 

'"I  am  content,  dear  Sire,"  she  replies  freely  ; 
"  for  then  the  fault  is  not  mine." 

*  "  Ha,  there  is  no  fault  in  you,  madame  !  "  cries 
the  King  in  a  hot  whisper ;  "  and  there  is  none  in 
me,  by  my  head  and  crown.  But  there  is  great 
misery,  and  danger,  and  sorrow." 

'  "  I  pray  you  tell  me  how  I  can  content  you.  Sire," 
says  the  Countess ;  and  he,  gazing  intently  at  her, 
asks,  "  Do  you  wish  indeed  to  content  me  ?  " 

' "  Yes,  Sire,"  says  she,  faltering  a  little,  for  he 
was  very  hard-set,  and  a  man  overweening  tall. 

36 


THE    SCRIVENER'S  TALE 


( << 


Why,  so  you  shall,  madame,"  he  replied  in 
a  moment ;  and  got  up  and  went  out  of  the  hall, 
taking  with  him  De  Grandison  only.  This  flattered 
greatly  the  anxious  man,  who  was  poor,  profuse  and 
ambitious ;  but  it  was  only  nature  working  in  the 
King,  to  make  him  love  the  nearest  thing  for  the 
sake  of  the  far  thing  he  loved  best  of  all.  The 
Countess  withdrew  to  her  chamber,  where  she 
found  Lancelot  with  the  two  boys. 

* "  I  am  to  content  the  King,  Lancelot,"  she  told 
him,  laughing  with  a  little  pleasant  defiance,  for  she 
was  half  afraid  of  this  glum  tutor,  yet  proud  of  her 
successful  dealing  with  the  King.  The  tutor  scarcely 
looked  up.  **  As  it  must  be,  madame,"  was  all  he 
had  to  say.  And  presently  after,  as  she  sat  there, 
trying  to  coax  him  through  the  boys  into  friendlier 
case,  there  were  heard  three  great  blasts  of  a  horn, 
and  much  clattering,  with  hinnying  of  horses  and 
pawing  of  the  ground,  and  running  to  the  window 
(she  and  the  boys),  behold,  the  forces  of  England 
file  out  of  the  courtyard  in  resplendent  order  of  mail 
and  trapped  horses,  with  banners,  pensels  and  gon- 
falons all  displayed,  and  many  a  blazoned  shield ; 
and  then  the  Marshal  of  England,  with  the  Earl  of 
Pembroke  in  command  of  the  host,  and  his  esquires 
with  their  grooms  all  about  him.  "  Oh,  the  knights 
ride  !  the  knights  ride  !  "  cried  one  of  the  boys,  and 
clapped  his  hands  :  but  the  other  craned  his  neck 

57 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

out  of  the  window.  "  I  would  see  the  King  ride," 
says  he  ;  then  his  brother,  "  You  knave,  the  King  will 
stay  here,  to  be  with  our  mother."  Blushing  to 
hear  him,  she  turns  quickly  round  to  look  at 
Lancelot,  and  sees  him  sitting  at  the  table  with  his 
head  in  his  two  hands.  Abashed,  a  little  frightened, 
she  knew  not  why,  presently  she  left  the  room  ;  and 
heard  two  things  that  frightened  her  indeed — the 
first,  that  William  de  Montacute  her  kinsman  was 
gone  into  Scotland  with  the  host,  the  second,  that 
the  King  stayed  at  Wark  for  that  night  at  least,  with 
De  Grandison  for  his  only  companion.  After  that 
she  hid  herself  with  her  women  until  her  brother 
sent  for  her,  saying  that  he  had  urgent  call  to  see 
her  before  supper. 

*  She  went  down,  and  found  him  walking  about  in 
the  forecourt. 

*  "  Sister,"  said  De  Grandison,  "  look  to  it  that  you 
content  the  King  this  night,  seeing  that  he  stays 
here,  neglectful  of  his  realm's  business,  for  sake 
of  you." 

'  "  For  the  sake  of  me,  Otho  ?  "  says  the  Countess, 
very  red  ;  and  he  repeated,  nodding  his  head  in  her 
direction,  "  For  the  sake  of  you,  Alys.  The  King, 
my  master  and  friend,"  he  added,  "  is  a  swift, 
intrepid  gentleman,  greatly  given  to  his  way — as  his 
due  is — and  not  to  be  brooked.  To  be  sure,  he  will 
do    as    he  chooses  sooner  or  later ;  and  they  who 

58 


THE   SCRIVENER'S  TALE 

yield  the  sooner  arc  the  sooner  rewarded,"  says 
he. 

' "  Why,  what  can  I  yield  to  the  King  of  England 
that  I  have  not  yielded,  of  all  the  store  left  me  by 
the  King  of  Scotland  ?  "  cries  the  Countess,  with  the 
answer  prophesied  plain  in  the  dismay  of  her  face. 
All  other  answer  she  got  was  the  brooding  look  of  the 
lord  Otho  her  brother,  who,  to  end  the  talk,  presently 
said,  "  Kings  ask  much  of  us,  their  subjects,  very 
much  they  ask — even  to  all  that  we  have.  But  they 
give  much  in  return,  pardieu ;  and  ours  is  a  poor 
house/'  says  he.  He  meant  the  house  of  Grandison, 
which,  however,  was  richer  than  he  thought  in  the 
Countess  Alys.  She,  sickened  of  advice,  left  him 
here,  and  saw  nobody  till  supper  time.  De  Grandi- 
son went  to  be  with  the  King. 

'  To  supper  came  the  King  in  a  royal  mood.  He 
made  the  Countess  sit  by  his  side  ;  he  plied  her  with 
meat  and  drink ;  he  spoke  little,  but  looked  much. 
After  supper  he  said,  "  Now,  madame,  you  and  I 
shall  play  a  game  of  chess.     Are  you  willing  ?  " 

'  She  said,  "  Very  willing,  Sire.  But  what  shall  be 
the  stakes  ?  " 

'  The  King  took  a  jewel  from  his  finger,  a  great 
balass  ruby  in  the  midst  of  fine  goldsmith's  work. 
"  I  lay  this  in  pledge,"  he  told  her.  "  What  do 
you  lay  ?  " 

*  She  broke   in,   "  Alack,   Sir,  I   have  nothing  of 

39 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

worth  to  lay  beside  your  ring."  Said  he,  "  You  have 
priceless  worth  in  every  ounce  of  your  blood.  I 
would  play  for  your  company,  sweet  lady." 

*  The  Countess  looked  wise.  "  You  shall  not 
need  to  play  for  what  you  have  in  tribute,  Sir. 
Here  I  am,  honoured  in  your  presence.  And  so 
long  as  you  will  have  me  so  in  honour,  so  long  I  will 
stay.  Longer  than  that,  or  otherwise,  you  would 
not  ask  for  me." 

'  Said  the  King,  "  Nevertheless  I  would  play  you 
for  your  company."  And  he  commanded  them  to 
bring  the  table,  the  board,  and  the  pieces. 


*  Next,'  said  the  Scrivener,  *  You  shall  learn 
how  the  King  and  the  Countess  played  at  chess. 

'  The  King  had  the  red  pieces,  the  Countess  the 
white.  They  set  the  board,  and  the  King  put  forth  a 
horse.  The  Countess  was  in  a  sad  quandary;  you  will 
understand  who  may  have  played  with  princes ' 

'  Ha  !  By  my  head,  indeed  !  '  nmrmured  Captain 
Brazenhcad 

* for  if  she  beat  the  King  she  would  have  his 


ruby,  too  rare  a  possession  for  subjects  to  hold; 
and  if  he  beat  her  she  would  be  at  his  discretion — 
and  what  is  the  discretion  of  kings  ?  All  she  could 
hope  for  was  to  draw  the  game,  an  end  which  is 
difficult  for  a  good  player  whose  head  is  cool :  now 

40 


THE   SCRIVENER'S   TALE 

the  Countess  was  an  indifferent  player,  whose 
head  ached.  None  stood  by  to  watch  the 
sport  save  my  lord  Otho  de  Grandison,  greatly 
interested  ;  not  at  all  Master  Lancelot,  the  boys' 
governor.  Him  you  are  to  suppose  at  his  prayers 
apart. 

'  At  first  the  King  gained  greatly :  he  took  hei 
bishop  with  his  bishop,  a  rook  of  hers  fell ;  he  gave 
her  check  in  eight  moves.  Each  stroke  drew 
a  snigger  from  De  Grandison.  This  quickened  her. 
She  brought  up  the  queen's  rook  to  the  queen's 
square,  then  with  the  queen  gave  check  :  nothing 
for  it  but  the  King  must  cover  with  his  queen.  So 
the  Countess  took  the  King's  queen,  and  had  good 
hope  of  drawing  the  game,  or  (failing  that)  of 
winning  it — for  by  now  she  thought  **  It  is  better 
that  I  have  the  King's  ring  than  he  subdue  me." 
Moreover,  if  I  am  to  tell  the  truth,  she  was  on  her 
meltle,  minded  to  win  if  she  could.  And  it  seemed 
as  if  the  Fates,  amorous  of  the  bold,  had  been 
gained  over  to  her  side,  for  the  King,  exceedingly 
put  out  at  the  loss  of  his  queen,  played  a  game  of 
revenges,  aiming  at  slaughter  rather  than  a  prize. 
He  lost  a  knight  to  a  pawn,  sacrificed  to  little 
purpose,  made  foolish  exchanges,  received  check 
after  check.  De  Grandison  marvelled,  the  King  saw 
his  concern  :  at  last  he  said,  "  Peste,  madame,  you 
play  a  good  game  of  chess  and  make  a  bold  attack. 

41 


NEW   CANTERBURY  TALES 

It  seems  that  I  must  lose  my  ring ;  but  think  not 
the  affair  ended  here." 

*  "  Dear  Sir,"  says  she,  "  if  I  attack  with  boldness 
it  is  for  fear  of  your  boldness.  I  pray  you  declare 
a  drawn  game,  and  take  it  not  amiss  in  me  that 
I  have  fought  for  my  side." 

* "  By  no  means,"  said  the  King,  "  but  greatly 
otherwise.  I  hope  to  give  a  better  account  of 
myself  at  another  time  and  place." 

*  "  I  am  sure  your  Grace  will  be  as  merciful  in 
victory  as  in  reverse,"  quoth  the  lady.  **  Be  not  too 
sure,"  said  the  King.  "  Meantime  I  shall  own 
myself  worsted  ;  and  do  you  keep  the  ring." 

'"No,  no,  dear  Sir,"  cries  she;  "the  game  is 
drawn.  I  may  not  take  what  I  have  not  won. 
I  lose  nothing  and  your  Grace  loses  nothing;  but 
honour,"  she  says  with  meaning,  "is  saved  to  each." 
The  King  with  a  nod  sent  De  Grandison  out  of  the 
room ;  off  he  went  on  the  tips  of  his  toes : 
immediately  the  King  took  the  hand  of  the  lady. 
"Dearest  madame,"  he  said,  "I  love  you  more  than 
my  life."  She  did  not  try  to  take  her  hand  away, 
for  she  knew  very  well  that  to  struggle  would  be  to 
evoke  stronger  forces  than  she  could  command,  or 
he  afterwards  call  off.  "  Sire,"  she  said,  "  I  am 
sure  that  your  gracious  words  would  rejoice  the 
heart  of  my  lord  in  prison — prisoned  indeed  in 
your  service." 

42 


THE   SCRIVENER'S   TALE 

**'  I  am  glad  that  you  think  so,"  repHed  the  King. 
"  I  have  always  found  the  Eaii  of  Salisbury  a  good 
subject,"  After  this  he  paused,  still  holding  her 
hand,  but  without  any  words.  What  could  she  do, 
poor  soul,  but  stay  as  she  was,  caught,  trepitant, 
nonplussed,  alone  with  the  great  King,  with  eyes  like 
a  hare's,  that  looks  sideways  for  danger  ?  After 
a  time  of  sufficient  embarrassment  he  kissed  the 
caught  hand  two  or  three  times,  saying  with  soft 
urgency,  "Be  merciful,  most  lovely  Alys."  She 
answered  him  bravely,  "  I  may  not  presume,  Sire. 
Mercy  is  the  prerogative  of  kings." 

* "  Ah,  I  cannot  be  merciful,  I  cannot  be  merci- 
ful ! "  he  cried.  **  I  am  driven,  you  blind  me, 
I  faint." 

'"Alas,  my  lord,"  says  the  Countess,  "if  the 
running  dog  faint,  what  must  the  hind  do  ?  " 

' "  Have  pity,"  says  the  King,  off  his  guard,  "  and 
succour  the  hound." 

* "  Not  so,  my  lord  King,"  the  Countess  made 
answer,  and  the  true  answer.  "  Not  so,  but  escape 
before  the  hound  wins  back  his  breath."  Where- 
upon she  lightly  withdrew  her  hand,  and  hghtly 
sped  out  of  the  room.  She  went  to  her  oratory  to 
make  thanksgiving,  thence  gratefully  to  bed. 

'  The  King  sat  on  where  he  was  for  a  goodish  part 
of  the  night ;  next  morning  after  mass  took  his 
leave,  with  great  ceremony,  fair  speeches,  and   no 

43 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

seen  remembrance.  The  Countess,  who  hoped  all 
good  things  of  him,  paid  him  her  humble  duty,  and 
took  up  again  the  gentle,  ordered  manner  of  her 
life." 


*  T    speak    now,'    the    Scrivener    went   on,    after 
a  pause,  '  of  a  greater  game  than  chess. 

'  The  first  move  in  this  greater  game  had  been 
played  on  the  very  morning  at  Wark  when  the  King 
took  leave  of  the  Countess  of  Salisbury,  but  before 
such  leave-taking.  Having  slept  badly,  he  rose  up 
betimes  and  sent  for  one  of  the  Countess's  bed- 
chamber women,  a  French  woman  called  Nicole, 
recommended  to  him  by  De  Grandison.  To  her  he 
gave  the  balass  ruby  from  his  finger,  saying 
that  the  Countess  had  won  it  of  him  overnight  at 
chess,  but  had  been  ashamed  to  take  it  of  him. 
Nicole  therefore  was  to  lay  it  among  her  mistress's 
jewels  without  a  word  said ;  and  if  anyone  at  any 
time  remarked  it,  or  asked  whence  it  came,  he  or 
she  (said  the  King)  was  to  be  told,  that  the  King  had 
begged  Madame  Alys  to  accept  of  it  in  remem- 
brance of  a  happy  game.  "  Dame,  Sire  !  "  cries 
Nicole,  "but  if  my  mistress  discover  it?"  To 
which  the  King  replied,  "  She  will  not  discover  it, 
ma  mie,  if  you  are  a  good  girl ;  "  and  gave  money. 
Nicole  promised  to  do  her  duty.     So  then  the  King 

44 


THE   SCRIVENER'S   TALE 

set  out  for  Scotland  in  the  manner  I  have  told  you 
of  already. 

'After  these  things,  in  the  summer  time,  the 
noble  Earl  of  Salisbury  wrote  letters  to  his  wife, 
saying  that  his  royal  gaoler  of  France,  very 
courteously,  had  promised  to  exchange  his  person 
against  that  of  the  Lord  of  Chateaudun,  prisoner  in 
England ;  and  that  he  doubted  not  but  the  King, 
his  liege  lord,  would  extend  a  like  grace  in  favour  of 
one  who  had  suffered  only  for  courage  and  loyalty. 
The  Countess  sent  Sir  William  de  Montacute  in 
haste  to  Windsor,  where  the  King  then  was, 
exhibiting  these  matters,  having  no  question  as  to 
the  answer.  But  her  mortification  was  the  greater 
when  William  returned  with  this  message  in  his 
mouth — That  the  King's  grace  would  consider  of 
the  exchange  with  the  Countess  in  person,  and  not 
otherwise.  Needs  must  that  she  go  to  Court, 
therefore ;  a  thing  which  (in  the  absence  of  her 
lord)  she  had  never  yet  done. 

*  She  made  herself  ready  with  haste,  and  before 
Saint  John's  Day,  so  much  speed  her  zeal  did  lend 
her  wit,  set  out  with  the  proper  retinue  of  an  Earl's 
lady,  with  her  husband's  two  sons,  Lancelot  their 
governor,  with  William  de  Montacute  and  the 
household.  She  finds  the  Court  to  be  at  Eltham  ; 
she  attires  herself  nobly  in  silk  and  jewels,  looks 
like  the  new  moon,  so  thin,  so  clear  and  bright; 
she  takes  a  lad   by  either  hand,  is  announced   by 

45 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

heralds,  falls  at  the  King's  feet.  "  Sire,  I  am  here," 
saith  she;  and  the  King,  "  I  have  grown  old  crying 
for  you."  He  taketh  her  up  and  kisseth  her  fondly : 
"Alack,  too  fond!"  she  thinks.  He  maketh  her 
sit  by  him  upon  his  high  seat :  **  Alack,  too  high, 
too  high  !  "  is  her  moan.  He  reasons  with  her  a 
long  time  in  a  low  but  ardent  voice  about  matters 
which  should  need  but  one  nod  of  the  head.  She, 
all  tremulous,  dares  not  think  of  her  danger  in  view 
of  her  lord's  necessity ;  she  urges,  implores,  shows 
tears,  looks  lovely,  melts  the  King's  heart  to  water. 
He  hints  a  bargain,  she  is  silent ;  he  expounds  it, 
and  then  she  holds  up  her  young  head.  "  My  lord, 
my  lord,"  says  she,  "  I  perceive  that  my  husband  is 
better  in  the  French  King's  prison.  And  to  that 
effect  I  will  write  to  him."  Says  the  King, 
"  Madame,  you  are  too  hard  with  me :  I  did  but 
try  you.  You  shall  write  to  the  Earl,  saying  that 
for  his  sake  I  give  up  the  Sieur  de  Chateaudun — 
for  his  sake  and  for  yours."  *'  Sire,"  replied  the 
Countess,  "  I  will  tell  him  that  it  is  for  his  sake, 
and  gladly,  gladly  believe  it."  **  Do  you  fear  his 
anger  then,"  asks  the  King,  "  that  you  will  be  silent 
about  your  part?"  "No,  Sire,"  she  replies;  "but 
my  husband  has  fought  and  suffered  for  you ;  and 
I  would  not  have  him  think  that  you  forget  what 
he  has  done  on  account  of  what  I  have  not  done — 
and  should  have  done." 

*  "  Ah,  what  have  you   not  done  that  you  should 

46 


THE   SCRIVENER'S   TALE 

have  done,  dear  madanie?  "  the  King  asks  her  with 
tenderness.  She  repHes,  "  Sir,  I  have  not  done  you 
long  service.  I  have  not  marred  my  face  with 
warfare ;  nor  grown  old  in  prison  for  my  King's 
cause."  "Farewell,  dear  madame,"  says  the  King; 
"  I  shall  send  letters  to  France  without  delay." 
She  withdrew  with  Lancelot  and  the  boys.  The 
King  kept  his  promise,  not  for  the  Earl's  sake  by 
any  means,  and  not  for  the  sake  of  the  Countess ; 
no,  but  because  she  had  shamed  him  into  it.  But 
Otho  de  Grandison,  anxious  man,  saw  very  well 
that  if  dishonesty  were  to  be  reaped  in  the  Countess, 
it  must  first  be  sowed  in  the  Earl.  And  he 
remembered  where  lay  the  King's  ruby  hid. 

'The  Earl  came  home  in  May,  a  little,  keen, 
fiery-faced  man,  with  sharp  black  eyes  like  pins' 
heads.  He  was  old,  rather  twisted,  fussy,  choleric, 
stood  greatly  on  punctilio.  The  first  thing  he  asked 
about  was  the  education  of  his  sons,  the  second, 
concerning  the  King's  disposition  towards  his 
house  ;  the  third,  of  the  state  of  his  revenues.  The 
Countess  made  him  a  loving  welcome,  as  her  duty 
and  good  heart  prompted,  and  was  glad  to  be  able  to 
satisfy  him.  All  the  accounts  of  his  castles,  manors, 
demesnes,  chases,  warrens,  parks,  forests,  fishings, 
free  and  bond  lands  were  in  fair  order ;  his  money 
in  stronghold,  or  put  out  at  good  interest  with  the 
Lombards  and  Florentines  ;  his  horses  were  in  stall 

47 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

and  his  cattle  in  byre.     His  sons  had  made  diligent 
progress  in   study :    he   was  well    pleased   with   all 
that  he  found,  and  said  so.     The  King  made  exor- 
bitantly much  of  him,  and  caused  him  to  come  every 
day  to   Court.      For   his   sake,  as   he   was  led   to 
understand,  the  Countess  was  appointed  to  a  post 
of  great  honour  at  the  Queen's  side  :  so  the  King 
saw  her  as  often  as  he  pleased,  and  the  oftener  he 
saw  her  the  more  pleased  he  was.     You  will  readily 
guess  that  this  lady,  who  had  acted  with  such  rare 
discretion  in  her  husband's  absence,  did  not  weary 
in  well-doing  now  that  he  was  at  home  again.     No 
fault  could  be  found  in  her,  she  made  no  slip,  she 
gave   no   sign,  but    kept    the   flag   of   her    courage 
and   honour   floating  free.      Even   when    the    King 
affected   to    find    (whereas   he   had    obtained    from 
Nicole)  one  of  her  garters,  and  hung  upon  it  a  great 
and  high  Order  of  Chivalry,  she  faltered  not,  lowered 
not  her  crest.     The  Earl  her  husband,  it  must  be 
owned,  was  not  too  well  pleased  :  he  thought  the 
King   carried   favour   too    far.     Yet,  sharply  as  he 
watched,  he  could  not  believe  his  wife  in  fault ;  and 
the    King   had  a  noble   way  of  frankness,  a  brave 
simplicity    in    all    such     doings,    which     disarmed 
jealousy   at  the  outset.     When    tongues  went  into 
cheeks,  when  fools  took  heart  to  mock,  when  eyes 
looked  askance,  when   brows  made  arches  at  this 
fact,    "  Shame    upon    the    knight    who    shamefully 

48 


THE   SCRIVENER'S   TALE 

thinketh  !  "  cried  our  lord  the  King,  and  held  aloft 
the  blue  girdle  for  all  to  see.  Nobody  after  that 
dared  suppose,  and  least  of  all  the  honest  Earl,  that 
any  evil  heat  blew  forth  such  breath.' 

'  It  was  finely  done  in  the  King,'  said  Captain 
Brazenhead. 

*  Do  you  think  so  ? '  says  the  Scrivener.  '  I  say 
that  it  was  finely  conceived.  But  wait  a  little,  for 
now  I  bring  you  to  a  new  move  in  this  game  which 
I  declare  to  have  been  greater  than  chess :  the  move 
of  that  anxious  man  the  Lord  Otho  de  Grandison ; 
who,  deeming  himself  the  close  ally  of  the  King's,  to 
rise  when  he  rose  and  fall  if  he  failed,  thought  fit 
to  sow  the  seeds  of  suspicion  in  a  worthy  man.  To 
the  good  Earl  of  Salisbury  came  this  Otho  by  night, 
saying,  "  Heard  you  ever  the  like  of  this  ?  The 
King's  finger  goes  naked." 

* "  Ha !  "  says  the  Earl,  not  knowing  what  else  to 
say,  and  weary  by  anticipation  of  the  man. 

'  "  I  mean,"  says  this  Otho,  "  that  he  hath  lost,  or 
otherwise  rid  himself  of  the  great  balass  ruby  which 
Tancred  King  of  Sicily  gave  to  King  Richard 
Cordelion ;  and  I  think,"  says  he,  "  I  think  that  he 
hath  given  it  away." 

'  "  Oh,  Hke  enough,"  says  the  Earl ;  "  he  is  a  very 
generous  prince." 

' "  But  he  worketh  deep,"  says  Otho,  "  and 
getteth  his  profit  better  than  any.  I  suppose  that 
this  ring  is  now  in  a  lady's  neck." 

49  D 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

* "  And  a  good  place  for  it,  pardieu"  says  the  Earl 
without  a  blink,  "  if  so  be  that  the  neck  is  a  fair 
one."  But  Otho  continued,  "Well,  well,  if  the 
King  may  wear  a  lady's  garter,  I  suppose  that  a 
lady  may  wear  his  ring."  And  now  the  Earl 
blinked  sure  enough,  and  asked  Otho  very  shortly 
what  he  meant. 

*  Said  Otho  in  return,  "  All  I  know  for  certain  is 
this,  That  when  the  King  was  at  your  Castle  of 
Wark  in  the  winter  he  had  the  ring,  and  now  he 
hath  it  not." 

'  The  Earl  turned  upon  him.  "  Do  you  know 
anything,  you  Grandison  ? "  he  asked  him,  with 
clenched  teeth.  "  Or  do  you  presume  to  draw  at 
random,  reckless  whether  your  sister  be  in  the  way 
or  not  ?  " 

'"By  my  head,"  says  Otho,  "you  wrong  me. 
Earl  of  Salisbury.  I  believe  my  sister's  woman 
Nicole  hath  the  ring." 

' "  I  bid  you  good  evening,  my  lord,"  says  the 
Earl,  very  stately.     Otho  went  his  ways. 

*  Yet  he  had  sown  mischief  in  a  fair  fallow,  as  the 
Devil  also  sowed  in  Christ's.  The  Earl  sends  for 
the  woman  Nicole  and  straitly  questions  her.  She, 
as  the  way  is  of  women  of  her  condition,  begins  to 
cry,  protesting  her  innocence  and  virtue  never 
impugned  before.  Pressed  harder,  she  confesses 
that  she  did  receive  the  ruby  from  the  King's  grace, 
and   that   her   mistress  now  hath  it  in  her  coffer. 

50 


THE   SCRIVENER'S   TALE 

The  Earl  sent  her  away,  and  went  himself  to  his 
wife's  bedchamber.  She  was  in  bed  asleep,  but  he 
woke  her  up  (not  rudely)  and  asked  for  the  keys  of 
her  strong  coffer.  She  told  him  where  they  should 
be  found,  would  have  gone  to  get  them  for  him,  but 
he  told  her  to  stay  where  she  was.  She  did  not  ask 
him  any  reasons  for  what  he  did,  seeing  that,  in  her 
eyes,  all  his  doings  were  reason  enough.  After 
a  little  he  came  back,  with  a  torch  in  one  hand,  the 
King's  great  ruby  burning  in  the  other. 

*  '*  Look  at  this  ring,  Madame,"  he  said,  "  and 
tell  me  whose  it  is." 

*  She  repHed,  "  It  is  the  King's,  my  lord.  I  saw 
it  on  his  finger  at  Wark,  and  he  would  have 
wagered  it  to  me  in  a  game  of  chess  ;  but  I  would 
not." 

* "  I  found  it  in  your  coffer,"  said  the  Earl.  "  Lie 
down  in  your  bed  again  until  I  require  you."  So 
said,  he  went  out  to  find  Nicole ;  but  this  time  he 
went  with  a  birch-rod  in  his  hand,  at  mere  sight  of 
which  the  woman  confessed  all  that  she  knew  or 
had  done.  She  told  him  of  the  words  wherewith 
the  King  had  given  her  the  jewel,  That  if  anyone  at 
any  time  remarked  it,  she  was  to  say  that  the  King 
had  begged  Madame  Alys  to  accept  it  in  remem- 
brance of  a  happy  game.  She  said  also  that 
nobody  had  remarked  it,  not  even  Madame  Alys 
herself,  and  so  the  words  had  never  been  spoken. 

51 


NEW   CANTERBURY  TALES 

"  By  the  Rood  of  Grace,"  says  the  Earl,  "  there  was 
more  than  chess  at  Wark." 

*  Being  a  reasonable  man,  he  thought  it  not  good 
to  see  the  King ;  being  a  sensible  man,  he  found  it 
not  possible  to  meet  again  his  wife  without  rage  ; 
being  an  honest  man,  he  went  away  from  London, 
giving  out  that  he  had  business  in  his  lands.  Days 
passed,  and  weeks,  a  whole  summer  time,  but  he 
came  not  to  Court.  As  for  the  Countess,  she 
reproached  herself  greatly  that  she  had  not  sooner 
discovered  the  ring  and  returned  it ;  and  to  Nicole, 
her  woman,  whose  duty  it  was  to  take  out  the 
jewels  she  might  happen  to  call  for,  she  spoke  very 
sharply,  saying  that  she  must  have  seen  the  thing 
lying  there  and  known  that  it  had  no  business  there 
to  be.  But  Nicole,  who  desired  above  everything 
else  that  the  affair  should  blow  over,  vowed  by  all 
the  Saints  in  the  Calendar,  both  the  red  and  the 
black,  that  she  had  never  remarked  it  at  all.  The 
Countess  could  not  prove  it  against  her,  nor  find 
anything  in  her  own  conscience  which  called  for 
weeding  out.  Her  heart  cried  for  her  husband's 
return,  that  it  might  be  justified;  meantime,  she 
must  go  on  as  she  had  ever  done.  She  occupied 
herself,  therefore,  with  her  duties  at  home  and 
abroad,  avoided  the  King  and  the  King's  friends  as 
much  as  she  could,  avoided  especially  her  brother 
Otho,   whom,    without   conscious   reason,   she   dis- 

52 


THE   SCRIVENER'S   TALE 

trusted,  and  leaned  more  and  more  upon  Master 
Lancelot,  the  governor  of  her  stepsons.  This  was 
a  very  silent  young  man.  In  company  dumb, 
awkward  and  morose,  over  his  charges  his 
ascendancy  was  assured ;  betwixt  him  and  his 
mistress  lay  absolute  faith.  I  believe  that  she 
knew  nothing  of  his  heart,  and  credit  her  with 
caring  nothing  for  it  at  this  time  ;  nevertheless,  with 
reason  or  without,  she  leaned  upon  him  in  her 
troubles,  chose  his  company  before  any  other,  made 
herself  snug  with  him  and  the  boys,  had  him  only 
to  read  to  her  of  evenings,  or  walked  in  the  gardens 
by  the  Thames,  up  and  down  the  grass  alleys, 
holding  his  arm.  Very  little  was  said  between 
them,  I  fancy;  nothing  of  what  was  wounding  her  in 
secret  was  ever  broached  by  him.  But  if  he  was  sick 
she  divined  it,  if  sad  she  gave  him  silent  tender 
comfort.  She  hked  to  think  herself  sister  of  this 
learned,  continent  youth  ;  more  than  once  it  was  on 
the  tip  of  her  tongue  (which  ran  on  when  at  ease)  to 
speak  of  her  uneasiness.  None  knew  it  better  than 
he :  yet  she  withheld  the  news,  so  the  disquiet  bit 
inwards  and  corroded  in  her  warm  heart.  You  are 
not  likely  to  suppose  this  Lancelot  without  eyes. 
Good  Lord,  the  man  loved  her  deplorably  !  Hanging 
(as  he  must)  about  the  Court,  watching  the  King's 
preoccupation,  the  importunity  of  the  King's  friends, 
the  flattering  knees  of  all  those  courtiers  who  prey 

53 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

upon  the  minions  of  princes ;  observing  most  of 
all  (with  a  heart  of  lead)  the  fat  smiling,  the 
slippery  hands,  the  liquid  back  of  Sire  Otho  de 
Grandison — he  suffered  the  tortures  of  the  damned. 
"  O  Lord,  this  nasty  snake  will  lick  my  dove  !  "  he 
groaned  within  himself,  and  agonized,  and  could  do 
nothing.  So  the  time  wore,  with  the  Earl  away  in 
the  West,  the  Countess  ill  at  ease ;  the  King  idle, 
full  of  dishonest  thought.  But  Otho  was  far  from 
idle. 


*  I  shall  tell  you  now,  companions,  of  the  Earl's 
last  tournament :  as  thus — 

'About  the  feast  of  Saint  Michael  and  the 
Angels  our  lord  the  King  proclaimed  a  great 
tournament  to  be  held  in  the  Moorfields  by 
London,  whereat  himself  and  his  friends,  De 
Grandison,  Badlesmere,  Pembroke,  Sir  Walter 
Manny  and  others  would  hold  the  field  against 
all  comers.  The  Queen  of  Beauty  at  this  festival, 
the  holder  of  the  Crown,  the  cynosure  and 
pleasant  Goad  to  great  Gestes  was  to  be  Madame 
Alys,  Countess  of  Salisbury,  who  most  unwillingly 
usurped  the  place  of  the  true  Queen,  Madame 
Philippa,  a  noblehearted  though  unplcasing  lady. 
She,  as  luck  must  have  it,  was  in  Flanders  at 
the  time,  visiting  her  blood-relation  the  Count    of 

54 


THE   SCRIVENER'S   TALE 

Hainault  ;  therefore  Madame  Alys,  because  she 
knew  not  how  honourably  to  refuse  the  King 
what  he  asked  her  with  great  insistance  on 
honour,  consented — but  with  tears.  Her  friend 
Lancelot  had  no  comfort  to  give  her.  "  Help 
me  here,  Lancelot,"  she  had  said,  with  a  gentle 
hand  on  his  shoulder.  **  By  my  head,  madame, 
I  cannot  advise  you  in  a  King's  matter."  **  Then 
you  have  no  love  for  me,  Lancelot."  Whereupon 
he  fiercely,  "  Why,  what  right  have  I  to  give 
you  love  ?  "  She  could  not  answer  him  any  more 
than  she  could  answer  the  King. 

'  On  the  day  set  apart,  the  lists  were  marked 
out  and  hung  with  white,  green  and  yellow;  the 
Castle  was  prepared  with  the  banners  of  England 
and  France,  and  a  fair  tribune  displayed  midway 
of  the  career  with  a  bower  of  red  and  white  roses 
upon  it ;  wherein  sat  the  dark-haired  Alys  in  a  red 
gown  powdered  with  silver  moons,  and  on  her  head 
a  crown  of  white  flowers.  All  about  her  were 
noble  ladies  and  virgins,  wives  and  daughters  of 
princes,  dukes,  earls  and  viscounts,  with  pages — 
among  whom  the  two  sons  of  the  Earl  her 
husband — and  esquires  of  honour.  All  the  chivalry 
of  England  was  there  to  joust. 

'  Very  great  fighting  was  very  cheerfully  accom- 
plished in  this  glorious  field.  Many  knights  became 
acquainted  with  the  dust,  some  became  dust ;  many 

55 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

lost  their  helms,  but  none  their  hearts,  except  in  the 
way  of  love,  and  that  most  of  them  had  done 
already.  And  then,  lo !  in  the  afternoon,  about 
three  o'clock,  a  herald  at  the  gate  proclaimed  the 
high,  noble  and  excellent  prince  and  lord,  my 
Lord  William  Earl  of  Salisbury,  come  in  arms 
to  face  the  Castle.  And  the  King's  herald  let  cry 
(by  the  King's  command),  "  Your  lord  the  Earl  shall 
have  vi^hat  he  desires."  So  the  Earl  of  Salisbury, 
bravely  armed,  rode  in  upon  a  great  horse,  a  squire 
on  either  hand,  one  to  carry  his  spear,  the  other 
his  shield.  The  fair  Countess  was  seen  to  have 
eyes  for  none  but  her  husband,  though  she  never 
failed  of  courtesy  to  those  about  her.  As  for  the 
King,  he  greeted  the  Earl  fairly  as  if  he  knew 
nothing  of  his  goings  or  comings  (which  indeed  he 
did  not  for  a  certainty),  and  was  gravely  saluted  in 
return.  My  lord  Otho  de  Grandison  did  not  appear 
in  the  lists,  and  was  no  more  seen  that  day,  save 
by  one. 

'  One  by  one,  the  King's  friends  jousted  with  the 
Earl,  and  one  by  one  were  discomfited.  Then  came 
forth  the  Black  Prince,  the  noblest  young  man, 
I  suppose,  that  had  been  in  England  since  King 
Richard's  day.  With  him,  to  the  wonder  of  all,  the 
Earl  refused  to  fight.  "  My  Prince,"  said  he, "  I  am 
of  your  party  always  :  I  will  never  fight  with  you." 
The  Prince  laughed  to  hear  him,  and  said,  "  Fight 

56 


THE   SCRIVENER'S   TALE 

with  my  father,  then,  my  lord  Earl,  if  I  am  not 
man  enough."  "  Too  much  man,  my  Prince,"  says 
the  Earl.  **  But  I  will  tilt  against  our  lord  the 
King  gladly,  so  far  as  I  may  with  honour."  Upon 
this  rode  out  the  noble  King  Edward  himself,  very 
splendid  in  his  gilded  armour,  and  saluted  the  Earl 
of  Salisbury. 

*  "  You  will  tilt  with  me,  fair  lord  ?  "  he  asked. 
*'*I   will   indeed,  Sire,"  replies  the  Earl;    "but 

first  a  word  in  your  private  ear." 

* "  Speak,  man,"  says  the  King.  The  Earl  went 
very  close,  and  showed  the  King  his  ruby. 

*  "  Do  you  know  this.  Sire  ?  " 

* "  Perfectly  well.  It  was  mine  until  I  lost  it  at 
play.     How  got  you  it  ?  " 

'  "  I  may  not  tell  you,  Sir,"  says  the  Earl ;  "  but 
I  will  make  good  my  title  to  it  here  and  now,  if 
God  judge  fairly  of  my  cause." 

*  "  God  will  work  His  will,"  said  the  King ;  "  I  am 
sure  of  that.     Make  you  ready,  my  lord." 

'Three  careers  they  tilted,  more  fiercely  than 
king  and  vassal  should.  In  the  first  the  King  bore 
down  the  Earl,  in  the  second  the  Earl  the  King. 
In  the  third  they  broke  their  spears,  and  were 
parted.  Entering  his  tent,  the  King  says  to  De 
Grandison,  "  The  Earl  hath  the  ruby  I  gave  to 
Madame  Alys.  This  frets  me  sorely."  "  Sire," 
replies  De  Grandison,  "  have  at  him  in  the  melee 

57 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

and  win  it  of  him."  "  No,  no,"  said  the  King, 
"  I  will  fight  him  no  more,  lest  I  have  to  reproach 
myself  with  the  hurt  of  a  good  man.  But  after  the 
tournament,  Otho,  do  you  find  me  the  Earl  and 
bring  him  in."  **  I  will  bring  him,  Sire,"  says  Otho, 
"  or  the  ring."  "  One,  the  other,  or  both,"  the 
King  said ;  **  I  care  not  which." 

*  The  melee  followed,  in  which  the  King  did  not 
fight — and  rightly,  since  this  is  a  very  perilous 
thing,  and  the  King's  person  no  more  to  be 
regarded  in  it  than  a  common  person's,  when  all 
are  heated  and  blind  with  dust.  Moreover,  it  is 
the  time  of  times  to  wreak  private  vengeances,  fight 
out  private  quarrels,  cover  all  kinds  of  sin.  But 
all  the  King's  party  were  there,  and  among  them 
De  Grandison  secretly ;  yet  not  so  secretly  but  that 
Lancelot  observed  him,  or  (rather)  observed  that 
the  numbers  of  that  side  were  full.  Now,  he  knew 
that  the  King  would  not  be  in  the  melee,  and  much 
wondered  who  it  could  be  that  stood  in  his  place. 
Afterwards  he  wondered  the  more  earnestly,  and  in 
time  understood.  For  in  the  midst  of  the  clamour 
there  was  a  piercing  cry  from  the  Countess,  "  Alas, 
alas,  my  dear  lord !  "  and  then  from  the  knights 
another  cry,  *'  The  Earl  of  Salisbury  is  down ! " 
The  Countess  turned  grey  where  she  fell  and  was 
carried  out.  When  they  came  to  take  up  the  body 
of  the    Earl   her  husband,  they  found    it  short  of 

58 


THE   SCRIVENER'S   TALE 

a  finger  in  addition  to  other  wounds  which  it  had. 
Here  was  a  sorrowful  ending  to  a  glorious  day. 
The  good  Earl  of  Salisbury  was  dead,  thinking 
injuriously  of  his  young  wife ;  she,  poor  soul,  was 
widow  before  she  could  hope  to  have  been  mother ; 
and  a  lad  of  sixteen  years  old  laid  upon  suddenly 
by  the  hand  of  God  to  be  a  peer  of  England  and 
a  prince.  They  bore  the  body  of  the  Earl  to  his 
palace  in  the  Strand,  and  laid  it  among  torches  in 
the  chapel.  Six  priests  said  six  masses  every  morn- 
ing, but  the  Countess  would  never  go  near  the 
place.  She  sat  alone,  without  tears,  saying  to  all 
who  came  to  her,  '*  He  hated  me,  and  thought  me 
wicked.  If  I  went  near  him  now  his  wounds  would 
spit  blood  at  me — and  I  dare  not."  But  she  sent 
Lancelot  daily  to  see  how  he  looked,  and  every 
time  that  he  came  back,  reporting,  "  There  is  peace 
upon  his  face  and  sure  knowledge  of  the  truth," 
she  shook  her  head  and  motioned  with  her  lips 
to  make  the  words,  "  He  thinks  me  vile,  and  I  am 
vile."  So  they  buried  the  Earl  without  any  last 
look  from  her  who  had  served  him  so  well. 

'  The  King,  having  his  ring  back  at  the  hands  of 
De  Grandison,  looked  shrewdly  at  him  as  he  asked, 
"  How  got  you  that,  Otho  ? "  The  other  replied, 
"  My  lord,  when  the  Earl  was  dead,  I  thought  it  no 
robbery  to  take  what  was  never  his."  And  he  was 
questioned  no  further. 

59 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

*  Now/  said  the  Scrivener,  after  an  impressive 
pause,  *  you  shall  hear  me  make  an  end  of  this 
history,  w^hen  I  have  told  you,  how  a  pawn  gained 
a  queen,  and  gave  the  King  check/ 

*  By  the  soul  of  any  dog,^  says  Captain  Brazen- 
head,  who  had  seen  whereabouts  by  this  time  were 
the  hands  of  Percival  Perceforest  and  Mawdleyn 
Touchett.  *  By  the  soul  of  any  dog,  Scrivener, 
I  know  what  you  are  going  to  say.' 

*  You  know  nothing  at  all,  it  seems  to  me,'  said 
the  Scrivener  ;  *  kindly  be  quiet.' 

*  Now,'  he  went  on,  '  you  shall  understand  that 
after  the  death  of  the  Earl,  the  King  was  most 
discreet  towards  the  widowed  Countess — discreet 
with  the  discretion  of  a  dog  that  waits  for  a  bone ; 
for  though  he  never  moved  during  the  days  of  her 
retirement,  he  let  it  be  seen  that  he  was  ready  to  go 
as  far  as  a  king  can  go.     There  was  an  air  of  **  as 

you  will  have  it,  but "  in  all  his  dealings  ;  more 

than  that,  he  had  the  young  Earl  girt  with  his 
father's  sword  and  brought  to  Court  the  moment 
the  funerals  were  over,  thinking  (O  guile  that  love 
lends!),  "Her  anxieties  for  him  will  bring  her  after." 
As  indeed  they  did.  Determined  as  ever  she  had 
been  that  the  young  man  should  walk  as  his  father 
had  desired,  she  took  up  her  duties  again  about  the 
Queen's  person  within  the  week  after  her  widow's 
seclusion. 

60 


THE   SCRIVENER'S   TALE 

*  Here  I  say,  Alas,  that  our  honest  motions  often 
prove  the  means  of  dishonesty  in  others !  This 
youth,  the  door  of  the  world  flung  open  before 
his  tender  eyes,  was  (as  it  were)  blinded  and  made 
drunk  by  the  glory  revealed.  As  he  learned  to  walk 
in  it  he  fancied  himself  a  personage ;  he  paid  court 
where  he  thought  courtship  was  due,  he  worked  to 
advance  himself,  loved  to  be  modish,  found  the 
sweets  of  his  step-mother  insipid  beside  the  wine  of 
the  king^s  sons.  From  them  he  learned  the  tired 
vices  of  kings,  with  them  appraised  all  women  by 
the  measure  of  them  that  are  no  women  at  all ; 
from  them  he  learned  how  out  of  measure  the  King 
himself  favoured  his  stepmother.  Soho !  thought 
this  solemn-foolish,  old-young  man.  Soho !  What 
a  scaling-ladder  for  the  house  of  Montacute  ;  and 
how  fumblingly  did  our  father  go  about  his  building ! 
In  his  sagacious  mind  he  turned  the  thought  over 
and  over  :  "  The  more  she  favours  the  King,  the 
more  he  favours  us."  To  whom  then  should  the 
poor  woman  turn  ?  The  mind  of  her  brother  Otho 
she  knew  too  well,  soon  the  mind  of  her  stepson 
Salisbury  she  dared  not  read,  lest  she  should  come 
to  know  that  also.  She  turned  her  pleading  eyes  to 
God ;  and,  praying  so,  she  turned  her  worn,  pure 
cheek  to  Lancelot's  view ;  and  as  his  heart  bled  at 
the  sight,  so  the  blood  boiled  as  it  flowed.  Some 
dark    design    was    afoot,    he    considered  :    he    re- 

6i 


NEW   CANTERBURY  TALES 

membered  the  man  in  the  melee  (not  the  King),  and 
the  Earl's  maimed  hand.     The  Earl  had  found  the 
King's  jewel,  and  had  worn  it :    who  had  it  now  ? 
who  had  cut  off  a  finger  to  have  it  ?     That  man  had 
cut  more  than  a  finger,  he  judged ;  he  had  cut  the 
thread  of  a  noble  life.     Why,  you  ask  me,  did  he 
not  tell  these  things   to   the  Countess  ?     For   this 
reason,  that  he  loved  her  more  than  his  life,  dearly, 
all    day   and    all    night.       "  If  I  tell  her  half  the 
truth,"  he  said  to  himself,  **  I  may  shock  her  into 
my  arms.     God  forbid  that  I  should  try  to  serve  her 
with  an  unclean  will."     Therefore  he  suffered  apart, 
wasting  to  see  her  suffer  ;  and  the  very  depth  of  his 
love  kept  him  dumb  before  her.     She  often  came  to 
him  to  consult   him,   trusted   him    above   all  men. 
He  could  give  her  little  help,  since  his  tongue  was 
tied  to  his  heartstrings.     She  thought  him  weary  of 
her,  thought  him  harsh  in  judgment,  sighed  to  see 
him    estranged.      Alack,    he   took   her   wages,    and 
loved  her  :  what  else  could  he  do  but  keep  strange  ? 
*  After  Christmas  matters  came  to  a  head.     The 
King,  infatuated  beyond  belief,  heaped  honour  upon 
honour  before  her  feet.    Unheard-of  fact  in  chivalry, 
he  gave  her  the  Order  of  the  Garter !     Upon  her 
arm  she  wore  that  first  mark  upon  her  fair  name  ; 
nor  could  she  do  otherwise,  since  the  King  publicly 
invested  her.      He  gave  her  good  manors,  castles, 
towns,  tolls  and  markets,  profits  of  the  sea,  profits 

62 


THE   SCRIVENER'S   TALE 

of  the  earth  and  the  bowels  of  the  earth.  She  was 
feasted,  sung,  done  homage,  courted  by  the  great 
who  would  be  greater,  adored  by  the  simple  who 
aped  the  great.  So  one  day  in  this  time  of  stormy 
worship  the  lightning  blared  upon  her,  the  sky  split 
open;  she  saw  depth  within  depth  of  ruin,  shame, 
shock  and  depravation.  In  a  word,  her  stepson 
the  young  Earl  came  to  visit  her,  and  made  bad 
truth  worse  by  ill-telling.  She  could  not  stop  him, 
she  could  not  answer  him,  she  was  cut  to  the  quick 
of  the  heart.  But  she  called  for  a  cup  of  water, 
being  white  and  faint,  leaning  by  the  wall ;  and 
when  this  dolt  had  run  to  fetch  it,  she  stumbled, 
sick  and  blind  and  hunted,  from  the  room,  and  felt 
her  way  by  the  walls  to  Lancelot's  oratory,  where 
that  young  man  was  praying  before  a  little  altar. 

*As  he  turned  his  head  he  saw  his  beautiful 
mistress  come  wavering  towards  him,  her  hands 
held  out  for  some  stay ;  so  scared  and  white,  so 
open-mouthed  before  misery,  flickering  so  like 
a  blown  flame,  so  distraught,  so  much  younger  than 
she  could  have  been — he  thought  her  dead,  and 
this  her  unquiet  ghost. 

'  "  What  dost  thou  with  me,  spirit  ? "  he 
whispered  on  his  knees. 

* "  O  Lancelot,  O  Lancelot  !  "  she  wailed,  and  ran 
and  fell  upon  him,  and  clung  fast  to  his  shoulders. 

'He  put  her  in  the  only  chair  there  was,  knelt 

63 


NEW   CANTERBURY  TALES 

beside  her,  stroked  her  to  calmness.  After  much 
shivering  and  moaning,  she  became  very  drovt^sy ; 
so  he  laid  her  on  his  bed,  and  for  fear  her  rest 
should  be  disturbed,  locked  the  door.  In  an  hour 
or  more  of  time,  whereas  she  still  slept  soundly, 
he  heard  in  the  passage  the  beginnings  of 
rumour,  the  steps  of  many  feet,  persons  running, 
searching,  talking  together ;  then  sudden  pause  ;  in 
a  profound  hush  the  quick  steps  of  one  man ;  then 
the  sharp  voice  of  the  King.  "  Lord  Jesus,  now 
help  thy  servants,"  said  he  ;  **  they  will  certainly 
wake  my  mistress.  It  will  be  better  for  me," 
he  considered,  "to  unlock  the  door  and  meet  her 
enemies  in  the  gate.  As  they  have  done  evil,  so 
they  can  imagine  nothing  but  evil."  So  thought,  so 
done ;  he  unlocked  the  door,  opened  it  wide,  went 
down  the  corridor,  and  knelt  before  our  lord  the  King, 
who  with  young  Salisbury,  Otho  de  Grandison  and 
some  other  one  or  two  held  debate  in  the  armoury. 
"  Sire,"  says  this  Lancelot,  "  my  lady  is  asleep,  and 
it  were  better  that  she  saw  not  your  Grace." 

***  Who  may  you  be,  young  man  ?  "  says  the  King; 
and  Lancelot  on  his  knees,  "  I  am  one,  my  lord 
King,  who  speaks  the  truth  from  a  very  full  mind." 

*  "A  pest,  fellow,  on  your  mind  !  "  says  the  young 
Earl  of  Salisbury  to  his  late  governor:  for  this  is 
the  way  of  the  suddenly  aggrandized,  that  they  think 
meanly  of  those  that  have  not  outstripped  them. 

64 


THE   SCRIVENER'S   TALE 

*  "  Be  silent,  sir,"  said  the  King  greatly :  "  this  is 
no  way  to  use  to  gentlemen  in  any  company."  To 
Lancelot,  "  Get  up,  my  friend,"  says  he,  "  and  speak 
your  mind."  Answers  him  Lancelot,  "  Nay,  Sire, 
by  your  leave ;  but  what  I  have  to  say  must  by  all 
means  be  said  on  my  knees."  "As  you  will,"  says 
the  King,  "  but  be  brief." 

* "  Sire,"  said  Lancelot,  "  so  I  will.  My  dear 
mistress,  four  months  widowed  of  a  noble  gentle- 
man, hath  this  day  suffered  a  great  shock.  What 
that  may  be,  let  my  late  master's  son  inform  your 
Grace ;  or  if  he  choose  silence  for  his  part,  as 
I  suppose  he  will,  let  my  lord  Sire  Otho  de  Grandi- 
son  take  up  his  parable." 

* "  Speak,  Earl  of  Salisbury,"  said  the  King. 
But  the  young  man  would  not.  Otho  de  Grandison 
chose  otherwise.  "  Dear  Sir,"  says  he,  "  I  guess 
what  this  stammering  person  means,  but  do  not 
care  greatly  to  sully  your  mind  with  his  sick 
distortions.  The  lady  is  timid,  and  close  by. 
A  sight  of  your  royal  face — remembrance  quickened 
by  sight  of  your  royal  finger — will  hearten  her. 
Let  me  persuade  your  Grace  to  do  her  so  much 
favour.  Afterwards  she  shall  bear  your  cup  at 
dinner,  and  the  wine  taste  no  worse  for  the  wooing 
of  her  lips.  Shall  it  be  so  ?  "  Lancelot  saw  the 
ruby  on  the  King's  hand,  and  De  Grandison  look  at 
it.     So  then  he  knew  the  whole  truth  as  in  a  flash. 

65  E 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

*  The  King  thought  for  a  Httle,  then  said,  "  Yes, 
yes,  we  will  certainly  see  Madame  Alys.  Lead  us, 
sir."  This  to  Lancelot,  who  stood  his  ground  for 
all  that. 

*  "  Sire,"  said  the  young  man,  "I  will  go  to  waken 
my  lady,  if  needs  must.  And  I  will  tell  her.  Sire, 
that  the  beguiler  of  Nicole  the  tirewoman  is  here, 
and  the  undoer  of  a  man's  faith  by  means  of  a  ring ; 
and  also  the  unknown  knight  who,  in  the  melee 
at  Moorfields,  slew  by  a  foul  stroke  my  lord  the 
Earl  of  Salisbury,  and  cut  off  a  finger  of  his  hand." 
He  had  raised  his  voice  to  speak  and  gathered 
courage  as  he  went  from  the  greatness  of  his  matter; 
but  now,  when  he  paused,  there  was  a  dreadful 
silence;  and  presently  the  King  swore,  "Death  in 
life  ! "  and  laid  a  hand  to  his  sword ;  and  next 
immediately  there  was  a  hubbub  of  voices,  with  the 
swishing  of  swords  as  they  slipped.  "  Down  with 
him  !  Cut  open  his  face  !  "  and  other  such  cries 
rang  down  the  corridor ;  but  Lancelot  stood  his 
ground.  Then  all  swords  dropped  and  all  tongues 
were  still  as  the  Countess  Alys  came  softly  out  of 
the  oratory  through  the  open  door,  and  stood  by 
the  young  man's  side.  Men  marvelled  to  see  the 
sharpness  of  her  features,  to  hear  the  dry  whispering 
of  her  tongue.  Deeply,  deeply,  she  curtsied  to 
the  King. 

"*  I  am  here,"  she  said,  "to  welcome   Pandarus 

66 


THE   SCRIVENER'S   TALE 

the  First,  and  Pandarus  the  Second,  my  kinsmen. 
But  I  bend  my  knee  to  the  august  confidant  of  Nicole 
the  tirewoman,  and  prostrate  myself  to  the  giver  of 
rings  in  secret.  And  as  ladies  should,  I  would  kiss 
the  hand  of  the  unknown  knight  who  took  my 
husband's  life,  and  cut  off  his  dead  finger.  Where 
is  this  knight,  my  lord  King  ?  "  She  stood  before 
the  King  with  her  arms  stiff  at  her  sides  ;  her  two 
fists  were  clenched,  her  chin  set  hard,  her  eyes 
dangerously  bright.     No  man  answered  her. 

'After  a  time  of  suspense  she  shut  her  eyes  and 
began  to  sway  about.  "  I  am  faint,  Lancelot," 
she  said,  "  take  me  back  to  the  oratory ;  quick, 
quick."  He  supported  her  with  his  arm,  turned,  led 
her  away.  Believe  me  when  I  tell  you  that  not  one 
man  of  all  that  noble  company  followed  or  so  much 
as  started  to  follow  her ;  but  all  stayed  where  they 
were,  rooted  to  the  ground.  When  the  door  of  the 
oratory  was  shut  (but  not  locked)  the  King  held 
up  his  head.  "  My  lords,"  he  said,  "  I  am  rightly 
admonished.  That  is  a  very  noble  lady.  And 
as  for  the  young  clerk,  I  wish  I  had  bishops  after 
that  model.  Follow  me,  sirs."  So  he,  too,  turned 
and  went,  they  following  in  silence.  But  he  went 
the  other  way. 

*  Now  while  his  mistress  lay  with  shut  eyes  upon 
the  bed,  Lancelot  cast  himself  before  the  Crucified 
to  ask  forgiveness  of  heaven  for  having  dared   the 

67 


NEW   CANTERBURY  TALES 

majesty  of  his  earthly  lord.  And  while  he  was  there 
at  his  cold  prayers,  not  yet  risen  from  his  knees, 
this  pretty  lady  slipped  oif  the  bed  and  came  and 
knelt  beside  him,  as  close  as  she  dared,  in  the  soft 
mood  which  follows  strong  exaltation  of  spirit,  her 
hands  folded  in  her  neck,  roses  burning  in  her 
cheeks,  her  head  bent,  her  bosom  not  reposing. 
For  awhile  they  knelt  tremblingly  together,  until 
Lancelot  shivered  and  sighed.  His  head  ached,  his 
fire  was  gone  out  in  ashes,  he  was  honestly  sick,  saw 
no  outgate.  So  then,  as  he  made  to  get  up  and 
resume  his  dead  life  of  serving  days,  "  Leave  me  not 
yet,  Lancelot/'  says  the  Countess  in  a  fluttering 
whisper;  and  as  he  turned  she  turned;  their  eyes 
swam  together,  she  threw  herself  upon  his  breast. 
In  a  trice  his  arms  had  her  fast.  She  said,  "  If 
thou  goest  I  go  with  thee." 

*  "  Ah,  whither,  sweet  soul  ?  "  he  sighs  ;  and  she 
without  looking  up,  tells  him,  **  To  thy  heart, 
Lancelot,  to  sanctuary  there." 

'  That  night  they  left  London  privily  by  river ; 
and  when  my  informant  had  news  of  them  last  they 
were  in  Ghent,  a  most  fond  pair  of  wedded  lovers. 
For  he  never  took  up  orders,  as  I  dare  say  you 
guess.' 


'  I  find  that  they  are  killing  a  pig  in  Alresford/ 

68 


THE   SCRIVENER'S   TALE 

said  Richard  Smith  the  shipman,  after  a  Httle.  He 
knew  not  what  else  to  say,  and  it  was  perfectly  true. 
The  arm  of  Percival  Perceforest  slipped  down  from 
Mawdleyn  Touchett's  waist ;  and  the  Prioress  of 
Ambresbury  praised  the  tale. 

*I  am  glad  your  ladyship  likes  it/  said  the 
Scrivener ;  '  for  that  emboldens  me  to  add  that  the 
young  man's  name  was  Lancelot  Corbet,  which  is 
my  own  name.' 

*  Ha ! '  cried  Captain  Brazenhead,  *  Ha,  Scrivener  ! 
And  he  was  no  mean  poet,  they  tell  me.  And  made 
other  handsome  things  beside  couplets,  I'll  engage.' 

*  He  was  my  grandfather,'  said  the  Scrivener, 
*  and  a  very  fine  poet.  And  Madame  Alys  de 
Grandison,  Countess  of  Salisbury,  whom  a  king 
loved  in  vain,  was  my  grandmother.' 

*  Therefore,'  concluded  Captain  Brazenhead,  look- 
ing benevolently  at  the  demure  Percival,  *  Therefore, 
ladies  and  good  sirs,  the  lowliest  of  us  may  aspire, 
and  bright  blood  make  a  rough  case  as  soft  as  silk, 
hey  ?  '  Percival  coloured  up,  but  was  grateful  to  his 
friend. 

Then  the  company,  topping  the  crest,  rode  in 
between  the  tasselled  trees  which  led  to  the  fair 
town  of  Alresford  on  the  hill. 


69 


DAN    COSTARD'S    TALE 


DAN    COSTARD'S    TALE 

pERCIVAL    PERCEFOREST,  the  second  day 
out,  was  overheard  singing  to  himself  a  song 
which  begins, 

'  Now,  Winter,  go  away, 
And  hide  thy  white  array,' 

Gratia  Magdalena — 

and  compelled  to  sing  it  all.     So  he  did. 

When  it  was  done,  *  Thus  women  sing  women, 
but  not  men  women,'  said  Smith  the  mariner  to  his 
wife.  '  Here  we  have  for  certain  old  Brazentop's 
mye  tricked  as  a  boy  for  the  road.' 

*  What  hast  thou  to  do  therein,  since  I  am  with 
thee,  honey  ? '  asked  she. 

*  More  than  saints'  love  went  to  the  making  of 
that  ballad,  young  gentleman,'  was  the  judgment  of 
Dan  Costard,  the  mild  old  priest  from  Ambresbury. 

'  We  needs  must  love  as  we  are  able,  sir,'  Percival 
replied.  '  And  for  my  part,  I  hope  Saint  Mary 
Mawdleyn  will  heed  my  crying,  and  give  me  good 
comfort  in  the  end.' 

*  Do  you  think  it  needful  to  human  contentation,' 

73 


NEW   CANTERBURY  TALES 

said  the  Scrivener,  *  that  man  should  love  maid  or 
maid  man  ? '     Plainly  Percival  thought  so. 

*  Nennil,'  continued  the  other,  *  by  no  means. 
You  will  have  heard  of  Narcissus,  a  fair  youth  of 
heathenry,  who,  seeing  his  own  face  reflected  in 
a  pool,  loved  it ;  madly  kissed  his  own  lips,  and 
falling  into  his  own  arms,  upon  his  own  bosom  was 
drowned  in  his  own  bliss,  inexorable  self-lover  ! ' 

*  A  wicked  imagination  of  a  wicked  race  of  men,' 
says  Dan  Costard. 

*  Heh,  heh  ! '  cried  the  Scrivener,  *  May  be.  But 
I  can  give  you  a  Christian  prince  in  no  better  state 
of  grace  as  touching  his  conduct,  though  his  hope, 
no  doubt,  was  what  Christ  made  it.  This  was 
Harry  the  well-beloved.     Heard  you  ever  of  him  ? ' 

'  What  Harry  is  this  ?  For  we  live  under  the 
sixth  of  that  name.' 

*  We  live  under  the  seventh,'  said  the  Scrivener, 
*  if  I  am  right.  For  this  Harry  was  King  Harry's 
eldest  son,  crowned  in  his  lifetime.  He  was  son  of 
King  Harry  Short-Coat,  the  king  who  in  the  fierce- 
ness of  his  nature  said,  **  Rid  me  of  Thomas  Beket." 
Ah,  and  they  rid  him  !  But  they  gat  him  in  his 
room  Saint  Thomas  of  Canterbury,  towards  whom 
we  ride,  who  ruled  him  with  a  longer  rod  than  the 
Chancellor  ever  did.  Well  then,  this  young  Harry 
loved  himself,  and  so  in  his  own  love  was  drowned. 
Listen,  all  of  you,  to  what  I  say  of  him.' 

74 


DAN    COSTARD'S   TALE 

*  By  Thomas,'  said  Salomon  Brazenhead,  *  I  will 
not  listen.  All  day  yesterday  you  prated  of  kings 
and  their  affairs.  I,  who  own  kings  for  my  familiar 
divinities,  as  dwellers  upon  my  very  hearthstone, 
I  and  my  nephew  Piers ' 

The  Shipman  scoffed — *  His  nephew,  quod  he  ! ' 
*And  my  nephew  Thrustwood,'  continued  the 
Captain  with  severity — for  as  Piers  Thrustwood  his 
nephew  he  had  smuggled  in  Percival  Perceforest 
the  beaten  lover — '  know  too  much  of  kings  to  value 
your  descant  upon  them.  Let  us  hear  of  common 
persons,  if  you  please,  with  saintliness  playing 
a  part,  if  possible  :  as  to  wit.  Saint  Mary  Mawdleyn.' 

*  Well,'  says  the  Scrivener,  '  I  will  please  you  if 
I  can.'  But  Captain  Brazenhead  had  not  done 
with  him. 

*  I  say  further,  Scrivener,'  he  went  on,  'that  her 
ladyship  of  Ambresbury  shall  choose  the  teller  of 
the  tale,  and  not  your  sufficiency.' 

*  I  choose  for  Dan  Costard,'  says  the  Prioress  at 
once ;  *  for  I  believe  edification  is  in  the  air.' 

*  I  am  sure  of  it,  my  lady  1 '  Percival  cried  ;  and 
Mawdleyn  Touchett  agreed. 

*  Speak,  old  man,  speak,'  said  Captain  Brazen- 
head kindly  ;  *  I  like  the  looks  of  thee.' 

Dan  Costard  stroked  his  chin.  '  Much  good  may 
that  do  me,'  says  he.  He  perused  the  blue  sky  for 
awhile,   spoke   to   himself,   with    grunts   and   sniffs 

75 


NEW   CANTERBURY  TALES 

intermixed,  apostrophised  the  Mater  Dei,  abjured 
the  enemy  of  mankind  ;  then  dug  his  heels  into  his 
horse's  ribs,  and  began. 

The  Loving  History  of  Peridore  and 
Paravail. 

'Augustine  crieth  unto  God,  "Behold,  O  Lord, 
yea,  behold  patiently  as  Thou  art  wont,  how  care- 
fully the  sons  of  men  observe  the  accustomed  rules 
of  letters  and  syllables  received  from  elder  times, 
neglecting  the  eternal  covenant  of  salvation  which 
they  have  from  Thee ! "  And  I  say,  that  they 
may  observe  more  than  syllables  and  yet  be  nearly 
damned.  The  tale  is  all  of  Blessed  Vigilas,  hermit 
of  Cauntrip,  who  dwelt  in  a  wattled  hut  by  Bleme 
Barrow  under  the  shadow  of  the  Druse  Ring,  and 
saw  visions  and  did  marvels  almost  daily,  by  reason 
of  his  fastings,  stripes,  flagellations,  macerations, 
prayers  incessant,  and  tortures  of  the  abominable 
flesh.  Of  the  which  thaumaturgies  and  ascetics  of 
his,  if  I  were  to  begin  to  tell  you,  I  should  speak 
from  here  unto  Canterbury,  and  from  Canterbury 
to  Chalcedon  without  rest  for  refreshment.  So 
I  refrain.  I  choose  rather  to  tell  of  his  dire  temp- 
tation, and  his  conflict  with  old  Legion,  King  of 
the  Devils ;  of  how  he  fought  and  how  at  last 
prevailed.  So  the  tale  is  of  simple  persons  ;  of  this 
Vigilas,  of  Peridore  the  shepherd  and  of  Paravail  his 

76 


DAN    COSTARD'S   TALE 

fosterling-,  a  slip  of  a  girl  whose  hair  was  colour 
of  dormice  and  her  feet  lighter  than  a  hare's,  and 
her  lot  more  unhappy  than,  may  be,  any  woman 
can  deserve.  For  my  own  part,  the  more  I  know 
of  women  (saving  this  company)  the  less  I  think 
they  deserve  of  good  or  ill  fortune ;  but  my  part 
is  not  the  tale's,  so  I  forbear.  This  gaunt  red 
shell  of  man,  whom  his  generation  revered  as 
Blessed  Vigilas  (beatified  in  his  lifetime  by  the 
Bishop  of  Rewish),  had  lived  thirty  of  his  forty 
years  alone  under  the  sky  of  Cauntrip  Plain, 
a  desperate  man  of  God.  There  was  none  holier 
in  the  shire,  nor  saint  in  the  hierarchy  more 
worshipped  than  he  by  the  men  of  the  City  of 
Rewish  (who  first  hailed  him  Blessed)  or  by  them 
of  the  vills,  towns,  parishes  and  hamlets  of  Cley- 
hungre,  Clyst  Saint  -  George,  Amberford  -  Mary, 
Amberford-Prior,  Markgate,  Percimere,  Shotley  and 
Drem — villages  all  of  shepherds  and  hinds,  tillers 
and  browsers  of  the  soil,  which  lie  about  the 
grassy  sea  of  Cauntrip :  none,  I  say,  more  wor- 
shipped or  with  better  reason  than  Blessed  Vigilas, 
hermit  of  Bleme. 

'  But  such  earthly  honour  is  in  itself  a  snare, 
not  the  least  searching  of  the  Enemy's,  or  so 
seems  to  be.  In  the  thirtieth  year  of  this  man's 
holiness,  the  twelfth  of  his  beatification,  the  fortieth 
of  his  age,  there  came  to  pass,  about  the  day  of 

77 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

Allhallows,  a  terrible  storm  of  thunder,  lightning 
and  rain ;  the  which  (being  a  time  for  warlocks, 
witches,  devils  and  similar  fiends  to  hold  Sabbath 
in)  was  the  very  time  for  Vigilas  to  pray  abroad. 
Pray  he  did,  kneeling  in  torrents  of  water,  like  the 
thunder's  self  roaring  his  cries  to  God  and  the 
Archangels.  And  as  he  was  upon  this  pious  strife, 
kneeling  not  far  from  the  dreadful  circle  of  rocks 
which  they  of  Cauntrip  name  the  Druse  Ring,  he 
heard — ah,  and  he  saw  in  a  flash  of  broad  levin 
two  witches  fighting  in  that  same  Ring;  who 
hopped  this  way,  hopped  that  way,  bounced, 
shrieked,  crouched,  scuffled,  mewed  like  cats.  The 
shameful  sight,  which  would  have  scared  a  plain 
man  under  his  bed,  called  Blessed  Vigilas  like 
a  trumpet  to  arms.  He  went  fiercely,  directly  into 
the  Ring  with  his  hands  spread  out  like  our 
Saviour's  on  the  Cross,  and  "  Ho ! "  cries  he, 
"  imps  of  dark  and  the  Devil,  I  adjure  ye  by  the 
Three  Holy  Children,  by  the  Archangels,  Angels, 
Thrones,  Dominions  and  Powers,  cease  this  hellcat 
work ! "  The  horrid  couple  (one  kneeling  on  the 
back  of  the  other)  laughed ;  they  threw  up  their 
long  faces  to  the  sky ;  they  screamed  like  gulls  in 
the  tideway :  they  laughed,  but  their  mirth  was 
bitter.  Confessing,  while  they  mocked,  the  power 
of  Christ,  they  flew  upwards  into  the  eye  of  the 
storm,  they  vanished,  the  gale  swept  them  away. 

78 


DAN    COSTARD'S   TALE 

Into  the  Druse  stalks  Blessed  Vigilas,  greatly 
exalted  and  as  if  certain  of  his  purpose ;  upon 
the  slab  of  sacrifice  (which  they  call  the  Blood- 
stone) he  finds  a  babe  asleep,  all  wrapped  in  a 
fleece  of  white  wool,  warm  and  snug  as  the  Sacred 
Child  of  Bethlehem,  Which  the  Shepherds  saw 
and  the  holy  Kings  of  Cologne.  Blessed  Vigilas 
gave  thanks,  took  the  child  in  his  arms  and 
brought  it  into  his  hermitage  of  Bleme.  It  was 
a  girl  child,  delicately  made,  new-born,  naked  but 
for  the  fleece,  and  (as  it  proved  when  awoke) 
lusty  and  as  hungry  for  meat  as  you  or  I  might 
be,  awake  at  midnight.  Holy  as  the  blessed  man 
was,  all  his  hoHness  skilled  him  not  to  feed  a  babe 
unweaned.  He  made  milk  warm  in  a  pipkin,  and 
the  child  sucked  at  his  finger  like  a  little  leech : 
this  gave  him  thrills,  but  the  child  scanty  meat. 
So  as  it  nozzled  in  his  leather  frock,  and  poked 
for  the  nipple  and  found  it  not,  so  as  it  wailed, 
Blessed  Vigilas  learned  despair.  I  know  not  what 
stirring  of  numb  old  flesh  was  in  him;  but  this  is 
true,  that  he  felt  he  would  renounce  his  hope  of 
heaven's  bliss  to  feed  this  child.  This  also  is  true, 
that  through  the  black  night  and  tail  of  the  storm 
he  fleeted  like  a  deer,  over  leagues  of  grass,  over 
hill,  over  dale,  to  Amberford-Mary,  a  four-league 
course  ;  and  ere  the  laggard  day  had  begun  to 
bhnk,  he  knocked  at  the  door  of   Master  Foliot's 

79 


NEW   CANTERBURY  TALES 

house,  wherein  lay  Ankeret,  that  man's  wife,  newly 
abed  of  her  first-born  san.  With  her  he  prevailed 
that  she  should  foster  his  foundling  beside  her  babe, 
and  give  a  breast  to  each.  She,  a  good  woman,  was 
willing,  if  so  be  that  Vigilas  would  christen  her 
son.  So  Vigilas  christened  the  pair  of  infants, 
naming  the  boy  Peridore  like  his  father  and  grand- 
father before  him,  and  the  girl  Paravail.  **  For 
(said  the  holy  man  prophetic)  par  avail  earnest 
thou  into  the  fold,  and  par  avail  shall  thy  soul  be 
saved,  and  par  avail  thou  guard  it  for  thyself." 
These  things  being  solemnly  done.  Blessed  Vigilas 
betook  himself  to  his  hut  by  Bleme  Barrow,  to 
his  fasting,  utter  solitude,  and  prayer. 

*  Believe  it  or  not,  after  so  much  devotion  his 
heart  was  now  empty  of  devotion.  He  could 
not  pray  at  all  for  thinking  of  the  striving  child 
that  had  sought  to  draw  milk  from  him.  "  Alack, 
my  God,"  he  cried,  "  is  all  my  thirty  years  of 
climbing  so  little  in  thy  sight  that  one  short  hour 
of  love  should  drag  me  down?"  But  God  answered 
him  nothing,  and  Vigilas  stayed  abashed  and  empty. 
For  a  month  of  days  he  battled  with  his  craving, 
fighting  as  not  often  even  he  had  fought  before. 
Terrible  visions  full  of  scars  and  fire  he  had,  awake 
and  asleep.  All  night  the  witches  screamed 
about  his  thatch,  or  sat  upon  it  talking,  sniggering 
shrilly    at    his    doubts.      The    Devil    also    tempted 

80 


DAN    COSTARD'S   TALE 

him  in  the  form  of  a  grey  dog,   which   came  and 
lay  panting  on  his  doorstep,  and  snapped  at   him 
whensoever   he  had  to   pass  it.      When  he  kicked 
it    one    day   it   yelped   and    died.      He    buried    it, 
but  it   came   again.     Again    he    killed    it,    and    left 
it    unburied.     It     stank.     Nor    was    this    all ;    but 
he    found    himself    forsaken.     The   wheeling   birds 
on    Cauntrip,    heretofore    his    familiars,    were   now 
scared  off  at  his  sight ;  the   foxes  hid   themselves, 
the    sheep    ran    blindly   from    him,    and    stood    at 
a   distance,    stamping    the    ground.      He   wrought 
no    miracles ;    cows   died    in    calf    in   spite   of    his 
prayers,    ricks   were    fired    by   night,    thieves     and 
ravishers  went  scatheless.     Vigilas  believed  himself 
cast   off  by    God,  whereas  the   truth  seems    to  be 
that  God  was  by  him  cast  off;   yet  all  this  made 
him   but  long  more  exquisitely  for  the   child.      At 
the  end  of  a  bare  month  of  days,  unable  to  endure 
himself,  he  sped  again  over  the  downs  to  Amberford- 
Mary,  and  in  spite   of  all   Mistress  Ankeret  could 
say  took  from  her  the  child  Paravail  and  brought 
it  to  his  hut  at  Bleme :  look  at  that  then,  a  child 
suckled  for  a  bare  month !     Yet  he  took  it  home. 

*  There  with  prayer,  with  sweat,  with  inordinate 
groaning,  with  a  wooden  spoon,  he  did  in  some 
sort  rear  this  treasure  of  his ;  through  him  or 
in  spite  of  him  it  grew  in  grace  and  favour, 
healthy    and    strong    and    without    visible     speck. 

8i  F 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

Soon  there  was  no  child  in  all  the  edges  of  the 
plain  so  fleet  and  fearless  as  this.  For,  by  reason 
that  from  her  earliest  hour  she  had  had  wide  Cauntrip 
for  a  playground,  she  became  as  one  of  the  denizens 
thereof,  ran  with  the  hares,  hid  with  the  foxes, 
played  with  them  under  the  moon.  She  swam 
like  an  otter,  lurked  with  mallards  in  the  reedy 
pools,  knew  all  the  birds  and  could  call  them 
about  her.  The  sheep  loved  her  well,  the  sheep- 
dogs did  her  no  harm :  with  all  the  soulless 
creatures  she  seemed  sib,  only  with  men  and 
women  there  was  no  commerce  for  her.  Such 
(if  by  chance  they  happened  upon  the  wild  girl) 
ran  quickly  from  her  sight ;  but  indeed  she  saw  none 
of  account,  save  Vigilas  himself,  and  him,  as  she 
grew  from  babe  to  girl,  now  she  drew  and  now  she 
drove  away.  Now  one  way,  now  the  other,  so  it  was. 
He  loved  her,  he  feared  her ;  he  hoped  of  her,  he 
despaired.  You  ask  me  of  his  inward  thought  ? 
It  was  this,  I  think :  She  was  his  child  par  avail. 
He  who  had  abjured  every  living  thing  for  his 
own  soul's  sake,  was  now  in  peril  of  renouncing 
that  same  precious  soul  for  a  thing  which  seemed 
soulless  itself. 

'  For  so  she  manifestly  appeared — this  Paravail 
— as  she  grew  up  beautiful,  strong,  swift  as  a  stag. 
She  spoke,  but  (as  it  seemed)  parrot-wise,  by  rote  ; 
she   repeated   what    he    taught    her,    prayed   with 

82 


DAN    COSTARD'S   TALE 

him,  lauded  God  and  the  Angels,  cursed  Legion 
and  the  fiends.  But  strive  as  he  might,  and  he 
strove  incessantly,  not  one  sign  did  she  give  that 
she  loved  God  and  hated  Legion,  that  she  desired 
the  society  of  the  Angels,  shunning  that  of  the 
fiends.  "  Either  I  nourish  a  soulless  woman,"  said 
Blessed  Vigilas  to  God,  "  or  Thou  has  let  a  devil 
come  tempting  me  in  sweet  guise."  So  he  fell  to 
praying  all  night,  while  Paravail  lay  calm-breathing 
on  her  bed  of  brake.  No  answer  came  down 
from  Heaven.  He  saw  her  arise  in  her  wild  beauty 
with  the  first  light  of  day,  and  flit  abroad  to  play 
with  the  beasts  or  what  else  might  lurk  secret  in 
the  hollows  of  the  hills  ;  and  he  remained  at  home 
to  beat  his  heart,  thus  to  hammer  at  the  door 
of  Heaven,  to  hope  against  hope,  to  love  and 
to  fear. 

'  Now,  this  was  the  way  of  life  with  the  hermit 
and  his  maid  until  she  was  a  grown  girl  of  nubile  age, 
the  most  lovely  upright  thing  in  breath.  Her  hair 
was  long  and  colour  of  a  dormouse,  her  shape  that 
of  a  gracious  woman,  her  skin  like  that  of  the 
peach  upon  the  wall  whose  hot  glow  is  dusted  with 
bloom.  Bare-headed,  bare-armed,  bare-legged  she 
went  her  heedless  ways,  clad  only  in  a  leather 
frock  after  the  fashioning  of  Blessed  Vigilas 
himself;  and  neither  heat  of  summer,  nor  frost, 
nor  deep  snow,  nor  terrible  tearing  wind  did  her 

83 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

any  harm  at  all,  but  instead  ripened  her,  so  that 
she  grew  golden  thereby,  and  supple,  and  satin- 
skinned,  and  straight  as  a  sapling  tree.  In  vain 
did  Vigilas  call  her  before  him  night  and  morning, 
and  make  her  stand  with  her  hands  behind  her 
back  while  he  told  over  her  parts  and  the  evil 
nature  thereof.  In  vain  did  he  touch  her  chest, 
saying,  "  This  deep  case  hideth  a  heart  black  as  all 
women's  hearts  must  be,  and  rotten ; "  or  again 
her  two  bright  eyes,  saying,  "  These  dark  pools 
see  nothing  but  evil  and  reflect  nothing  but  evil 
again  :  so  evil  looketh  on  evil  and,  believing  it  good, 
is  horribly  deceived ;  "  or  her  red  mouth,  with  the 
words,  "  Hence  proceed  leasing,  and  provocation 
to  evil-doing,  and  slander,  and  backbiting,  and 
words  of  malice  and  all  guile."  In  vain,  I  say,  in 
vain  !  She  repeated  the  words,  she  seemed  meek, 
soothfast,  chastened,  obedient ;  but  the  words  once 
rehearsed,  she  was  off  and  away,  and  he  saw 
nothing  more  of  her  until  she  was  hungry  or 
wishful  to  sleep. 

'Going  thus,  growing  thus,  out  of  all  control  of 
old  Vigilas,  though  never  out  of  his  fierce  heart, 
she  was  espied  one  day  by  her  fosterling  of  a  month, 
young  Peridore  Foliot,  a  dark-hued  lad,  as  he  lay 
keeping  sheep  upon  the  plain ;  and  he,  who  had 
never  seen  her,  but  often  heard  other  shepherds 
report  concerning  her  wild   ways,  wooed  her  with 

84 


DAN    COSTARD'S   TALE 

his  pipe  to  draw  near,  and  so  (even  as  she  herself 
could  chavm  a  starting  bird)  drew  her  in  and  in, 
till  at  last  she  came  and  sat  beside  him,  and 
touched  his  garments  and  his  hair,  and  wondered 
over  him  and  smelt  at  him ;  and  so,  looking  deeply 
into  his  eyes,  let  him  put  hands  upon  her  and  take 
her  by  the  chin,  and  kiss  her  cheeks  and  mouth. 
Whereupon,  as  at  a  first  draught  of  new  wine,  she 
fell  at  once  to  love  him  out  of  measure,  and  did 
love.  This  was  the  beginning  also  of  manhood 
for  Peridore,  a  tall  lad,  first  born  of  honest  people, 
a  good  boy  and  a  pious ;  for  (as  you  know  better 
than  I)  manhood  beginneth  by  self-knowledge,  and 
self-knowledge  came  by  sin.  I  think  Peridore  did 
no  piety  here,  to  meet  this  elfin  thing  in  secret 
and  stray  with  her  upon  the  windy  downs :  better 
to  have  kept  the  sheep,  with  his  pipe  in  his  bosom. 
Withal,  what  he  did  was  no  great  affair  to  hurt 
her.  His  honesty  saved  hers  from  disaster.  In  all 
innocence  (as  being  soulless)  she  would  have 
suffered  what  in  the  heat  of  youth  he  might  have 
done ;  but  unless  it  be  a  wrong  to  love  that  which 
hath  little  wit,  he  wronged  her  not. 

*  Paravail  got  a  new  master,  as  you  see,  with 
softer  lessons  and  a  softer  mouth  ;  but  she  learned 
little  more.  "  Repeat  with  me,  dear  Paravail, 
what  I  shall  rehearse,"  saith  Peridore  to  her. 
"  God  I  fear,  Christ   I  glorify,   to   Mary's  knees  I 

85 


NEW   CANTERBURY  TALES 

cling,  to  the  Saints  I  lift  up  my  voice."  She  said 
all  the  words  after  him,  dully  at  first,  but  brighten- 
ing  towards    the   close,    for    she    knew    what    was 

coming  then.     "  Say  now,  Paravail "  he  began  ; 

and  she  stopped  him  there  and  said  the  words 
herself — "  I  love,  I  love,  I  love  Peridore  " — and 
put  up  a  kindling  face  to  be  kissed.  And  he  always 
kissed  her  fondly,  believing  what  she  had  said. 
Perfect  love,  however,  should  be  perfect  under- 
standing; but  when  Peridore  expounded  what  he 
knew  of  duty,  of  his  parents,  of  his  faith  as  a 
Christian,  she  pouted,  sulked  or  ran  away,  and 
must  be  coaxed  back  by  the  pipe  and  held  by 
endearments  to  his  side.  The  pipe's  music  was 
magic  to  her ;  by  that  Peridore  had  tamed  her  at 
first,  through  that  he  had  her  at  his  call  by  night 
or  by  day. 

*  It  was  long  before  Blessed  Vigilas  found  out 
what  had  wrought  a  great  change  in  Paravail.  He 
saw  her  ill  at  ease,  cowed,  dull,  timorous  before 
him ;  he  saw  her  all  quivering  to  be  away  to  the 
open,  wakeful,  starting,  full  of  dreams  at  nights 
When  he  questioned  her  she  evaded  him,  when  he 
reproved  her  she  wept.  He  believed  her  to  tell 
lies ;  some  strange  thing  (he  knew  very  well)  had 
taught  her  to  be  shifty.  Not  as  yet  did  he  suspect 
the  Devil,  least  of  all  a  lover;  but  rather  he  judged 
that    the    rooted   old    wickedness   of    women    was 

86 


DAN   COSTARD'S  TALE 

sending  up  a  flowering  shoot  in  this  young  flesh. 
"  Alas,  she  hath  a  soul  then,"  he  reasoned,  "  and  it 
is  full  of  the  maggots  of  sin.  Whereas  before  she 
did  not  understand,  now  she  understands  too  well. 
What  shall  I  do,  that  have  devoted  fifteen  years  of 
life  to  the  care  of  a  wicked  woman  ?  "  Observe,  that 
while  he  yet  deceived  himself  he  could  no  longer 
deceive  the  girl.  She,  by  the  new  light  she  had,  read 
him  through  and  feared  him  the  more ;  he,  with  all 
his  strong  flame,  could  read  less  than  at  first.  Now 
then,  one  night  as  he  knelt  at  his  holy  exercise 
(thinking  to  deceive  his  God  as  he  deceived  himself), 
while  she  lay  abed,  he  heard  the  notes  of  a  shepherd's 
pipe  without,  played  low.  He  saw  Paravail  start, 
knew  that  she  listened ;  as  the  music  went  on — 
a  secret,  plaining  air — he  perceived  that  she  trembled 
and  turned  about,  that  she  was  broad  awake,  in 
a  fever  to  be  out,  pretending  to  be  asleep  all  the 
while.  So  Love  which  had  made  her  full  of  wiles, 
filled  him  also  with  wiles.  Vigilas  went  out  of  the 
hut,  hid  himself  in  the  Druse  Ring.  Peering  thence 
between  the  great  heeling  stones,  he  saw  young 
Paravail,  slim  and  fair  in  a  full  bath  of  the  moon's 
light,  flit  out  of  the  hut,  standing  tiptoe  to  look 
about  her,  then  flash  like  a  swallow  to  where  the 
music  called  her.  Down  the  lit  acres  he  saw  her 
go:  himself,  lightfooted  as  a  stag,  coursed  after. 
He  saw  her  top  a  ridge  of  grass  bleached  white  by 
the  moon ;  he  watched  her  flying  down  the  slopes 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

beyond:  desperate,  he  followed.  He  lost  her  by 
a  little  grove  of  trees,  in  a  bottom  where  there  was 
a  brook,  and  fern  grew  rank,  with  foxgloves  inter- 
mixed. But  over  the  brook  the  trees  stood 
clustered  on  dry  sandy  ground,  and  there  he  saw 
her  again — and  one  with  her.  He  saw  a  tall 
smocked  shepherd  stand  alone:  thither  also  came 
Paravail  with  a  quick  glad  cry,  who  threw  herself 
upon  his  breast,  and  touched  his  face  with  tender 
hands.  Lying  deep  in  the  brake,  he  saw  much 
more  than  this,  and  what  evil  was  not  done  his  evil 
thoughts  conceived  :  though  it  had  been  pitchy  dark 
his  eyes  would  have  burned  a  path  through  the 
night.  Love  had  him  gripped  by  the  shoulders; 
love  had  his  heart  in  both  hands  and  was  gnawing 
it  with  strong  teeth.  Blessed  Vigilas,  man  of  God, 
forty  years'  hermit  on  Cauntrip,  teacher  of  all  the 
country,  was  himself  in  school.  Blessed  Vigilas 
was  lover  of  young  Paravail,  the  more  desperate  in 
that  his  days  were  many,  the  more  consumed  with 
desire  in  that  desire  had  been  so  long  forbid. 
Jealousy,  love's  naughty  friend,  now  lifted  up  a  head  ; 
jealousy,  which  makes  a  man  see  his  own  wickedness 
in  what  he  wickedly  loves,  and  wreck  the  thing  that 
he  longs  for,  lest  another  should  dare  to  possess  it. 

'What  did  Vigilas?  He  ran  away  at  first. 
Lying  upon  his  face  alone  on  the  down,  his  soul 
became  a  battle-acre  for  angels  and  fiends. 

*  •*  She  is  mine,  mine,  mine  1  " 

88 


DAN    COSTARD'S   TALE 


(    C( 


Nay,  sinner,  but  all  are  Mine.''^ 

*  **  Shall  I  not  save  this  poor  child,  whom  once 
I  saved  before  ?  " 

'  "Nay,  sinner,  save  thyself." 

*  "It  is  lawful  for  me  to  wed,  O  my  God." 

* "  Out  on  thee,  wretch,  what  hast  thou  to  do  with 
a  wife  ?  " 

*  "  By  my  soul,  O  Lord,  I  will  never  let  her  go  !  " 

*  "  How  wilt  thou  save  her  and  thyself  too  ?     Choose." 
' "  What  if  I  know  myself  strong  enough  to  do 

it?" 

*  "  What  strength  is  in  thee  now,  fond  wretch  ?  " 

* "  If  she  tempteth  me.  Lord,  so  sorely,  it  is 
because  she  hath  a  devil." 

*  "  What  then,  Vigilas,  My  son  ?  " 

*  "  Lord,  by  Thy  grace  I  have  been  strong." 

*  "  Tempt  Me  not,  Vigilas,  My  son." 

* "  Lord,  I  shall  take  her  back  to  Bleme  and 
exorcise  this  devil  that  she  hath.  For  look  Thou, 
Lord,  if  she  hath  a  devil  she  will  involve  this  poor 
silly  shepherd  in  her  flame  of  fire." 

'  "  See  to  it,  Vigilas,  that  she  involve  not  thee." 

*  "  She  is  mine  !  I  saved  her  from  the  witches. 
She  hath  been  my  light  and  joy  these  many 
years.     And  shall  another  take  her  now  ?  " 

'  "  Alas  for  thee,  Vigilas." 

*  "  I  take  her.  Lord.    I  save  her  from  this  death." 
'  "  Thou  art  to  choose." 

89 


NEW   CANTERBURY  TALES 

'"O  Christ,  I  love  her!" 

*  "  7s  this  thy  choice  ?  " 

'  Vigilas  got  up  and  faced  the  great  night.  The 
moon  had  gone  in :  it  wanted  two  hours  of  dawn. 

'  "  I  choose,"  he  said  to  God  in  the  dark.  "  The 
soul  I  saved  shall  be  saved  still.  If  she  is  a  devil 
I  will  fight  with  her.  If  a  devil  hath  in  her  his  seat 
I  will  drive  him  out.  I  know  very  well  that  she 
tempteth  me  to  sin  ;  but  that  is  my  opportunity 
delivered  from  of  old.  O  my  God,  great  and  mar- 
vellous things  have  I  wrought  this  forty  year  five : 
now  I  will  do  a  greater  than  all  when  I  take  home 
with  me  this  lovely  fiend  ;  and  look  and  long,  but 
curse  her ;  and  love,  but  chastise ;  and  fear,  but 
dare  her  do  me  harm.  Now,  O  God,  Thou  shalt  be 
content  with  Thy  servant.  Is  it  not  so  ?  Answer 
me."  But  God  answered  him  nothing ;  but  all  the 
muffled  hills  and  all  the  stars  stood  motionless  in 
their  places.  Blessed  Vigilas  strode  again  over  the 
grass  to  the  brook  in  the  valley,  gathering  blindness 
and  rage  as  he  went.  By  the  grey  dawn  light  he 
saw  Peridore  and  Paravail  asleep,  her  head  upon 
his  shoulder,  her  face  thrown  up  towards  his  so 
that  her  lips  brushed  his  check.  They  had  done  no 
harm,  but  innocently,  after  their  gentle  kind  :  yet 
he,  being  filled  with  insane  rage,  saw  wickedness 
ruining  their  faces,  and  devils  everywhere,  writhing 
and  knotting  in  that  place. 

90 


DAN   COSTARD'S  TALE 

*The  noise  of  his  fierce  feet  breaking  through 
the  fern  woke  Paravail,  who  went  all  cold  and 
began  to  shake,  clinging  to  Peridore.  Then  he  also 
awoke,  jumped  up  and  stood  before  old  Vigilas. 
"  Blessed  sir,"  says  he,  "  if  it  please  you  to  hear  it, 
I  have  found  again  Paravail,  my  fosterling  for 
a  month,  and  now  would  ask  her  of  you  for  my  dear 
wife."  "  Down,  hound,"  roared  Vigilas,  "  lest 
I  strike  thee  down."  He  took  Paravail  by  the  wrist 
and  pulled  her  up,  and  cuffed  her  three  times  on  the 
head.  As  she  flinched  and  cowered  sideways  to 
avoid  him,  "  The  fiend  in  thee  is  wide  awake,  I  see," 
he  says,  "  but  I  will  drive  him  out.  Thou  spread- 
est  thy  nets  very  wide,  but  I  will  slit  them  in  pieces. 
I  will  save  thy  soul  in  spite  of  Legion  and  all  his 
company.  Come  in,  come  in,  thou  abhorred,  and 
do  thy  worst  with  me."  So  he  haled  her  away, 
breathing  hard  through  his  close  nostrils ;  and 
Peridore  followed  after,  anxious,  miserable,  horribly 
afraid  of  Vigilas,  but  bound  by  the  same  cords 
about  his  neck  to  go  where  Paravail  should  draw 
him.  See  all  three  wretches  in  a  concatenation : 
Vigilas  roped  to  Love,  Paravail  snatched  by  Vigilas, 
Peridore  in  Paravail's  net.  Deplorable  state  of 
affairs ! ' 

'  Improbus  tile  pucr ;  crudelis  tu  quoque  mater,' 
quoth  the  Scrivener  at  this  point :  but  Percival 
would  not  let  go  Mawdleyn's  hand. 

91 


NEW   CANTERBURY  TALES 

Dan  Costard  resumed  : — 

*  Vigilas  dragged  Paravail  back  to  Bleme  and 
shut  the  door  upon  her  and  himself.  Peridore 
sat  down  against  the  wall,  his  chin  upon  his  bare 
knees,  and  so  stayed.  There  reigned  an  enormous 
weight  of  silence  over  the  plain  :  the  dawn  came 
unheralded  by  cry  of  bird ;  within  the  hut  was 
silence  absolute.  At  noon  Vigilas  came  out  to 
pray  as  his  custom  was,  to  pray  and  scourge 
himself.  This  day,  as  he  plied  the  goad  with  more 
frenzy  than  his  wont,  Peridore  cried  out  for  mercy. 
"  Ah,  have  mercy,  have  mercy,  Vigilas !  Have 
mercy  on  thyself — and  on  all  of  us !  "  was  his 
plea;  but  Vigilas  shook  the  blood  off  his  face  and 
hair  to  look  at  him,  and  then  said,  "  Thus  I  score 
deep  the  proud  flesh  which  is  my  gaol."  Little 
enough  flesh  was  there,  God  wot ;  yet  he  cut  it  to 
furrows.  Now,  the  door  of  the  hut  was  ajar,  and 
Peridore  peered  into  the  dark  entry,  hoping  to  see 
Paravail  crouching  there.  But  he  saw  nothing. 
Presently  Vigilas  gave  over  his  discipline,  and 
went  down  to  the  well  for  water,  but  before  he 
went  shut  the  door  and  rolled  a  great  stone  in  front 
of  it.  No  sooner  is  he  round  the  house  than 
Peridore  is  at  the  door,  tapping,  scratching,  calling 
"  Paravail,  Paravail,  Paravail,  my  love !  "  Her 
voice,  very  small  and  far  off,  begs  him  go  away 
and  never  see  her   again.     Peridore   laughs    in  his 

92 


DAN   COSTARD'S   TALE 

misery,  putting  up  his  face  like  a  dog,  that  howls 
at  the  light.  Back  comes  Vigilas  with  a  bucket 
of  water  and  finds  Peridore  with  his  mouth  at  the 
bobbin  of  the  latch.  He  gives  a  short  cry,  drops 
the  bucket.  "Prying  dog!"  he  snarls  (like  a 
beast) ;  he  catches  the  lad  by  the  scruff  of  his 
neck  and  hurls  him  with  fury  to  the  ground.  "  Ah, 
night-thief,  beware  of  me !  "  Peridore  crawled 
away,  ashamed  and  hurt,  and  lay  at  a  distance 
looking  at  Vigilas  his  enemy ;  but  so  soon  as  the 
hermit  was  within  doors,  back  he  crept  to  his  post 
by  the  door.  As  for  Vigilas,  mindful  of  the  grey  dog 
of  old,  which  was  the  devil  in  a  mean  shape,  he 
was  sure  that  he  should  see  Peridore  again. 

*  Now  began  Blessed  Vigilas  to  cry  upon  the 
fiend  to  come  out  of  Paravail,  with  a  roaring 
sound  as  of  a  mighty  wind,  most  terrible  to  hear. 
Peridore,  pressed  to  the  door,  grew  cold  to  the 
marrow  as  he  listened.  Yet  not  so  much  the 
dread  crying  of  Vigilas  terrified  him  as  the  silence 
of  the  girl :  not  a  sound  came  forth  to  tell  him 
news  of  her,  what  she  suffered  or  what  could  not 
suffer.  Yea,  although  there  were  horrific  pauses 
in  the  stream  of  cursing,  minutes  of  time  when  all 
nature  seemed  athrob  with  the  reverberations  of 
the  burthen  of  reproach,  not  once  could  he  catch 
a  whimper,  a  moan,  a  little  gasp  of  catching  breath, 
to  tell  him  that  Paravail  lived  or  warn  him  that  she 

93 


NEW   CANTERBURY  TALES 

was  about  to  die.  To  his  mind  she  was  so  tender 
and  fragile  a  thing  that  (thought  he)  one  blast  of 
the  trumpet  of  Vigilas  must  scare  soul  from  body : 
had  she  then  died  at  once  ?  Did  the  great 
minatory  voice  do  no  more  now  than  chase  a 
flickering  ghost  about  the  hut,  from  corner  to 
corner  thereof?  Peridore  could  bear  it  no  longer, 
but  threw  himself  at  the  door,  battering  with  his 
hands  and  feet,  scrambling,  padding  against  it  like 
a  cat  at  the  walls  of  a  well,  crying,  **  O  Vigilas, 
give  over !  Spare  her,  spare  her !  O  Vigilas,  for 
the  dear  love  of  God  !  "  He  spent  and  maddened 
himself  in  vain ;  at  last  fell  in  a  heap  by  the  door, 
and  lay  still,  as  one  dead. 

*  When  he  awoke  it  was  night,  with  a  full  moon. 
There  was  Vigilas  outside  the  hut  again,  digging 
a  pit.  Peridore  sat  up  and  watched  him  :  by  and 
by  it  comes  into  his  mind  that  this  is  the  grave  of 
Paravail  which  he  digs.  But  he  dares  do  no  more 
than  watch.  Presently  then,  the  pit  being  as  deep 
as  the  knees  of  Vigilas,  he  says,  "  Oh,  Vigilas,  she 
is  but  a  little  creature.  No  need  to  bury  her  so 
deep.  For  what  unfriendly  thing  would  dig  her 
up  again  ?  She  is  friend  with  all  creatures  living 
save  thee.     Not  so  deep,  Vigilas,  not  so  deep." 

*  "  You  fool,"  says  Vigilas,  pausing  with  his  pick 
in  the  ground.  "  I  dig  this  pit  for  myself.  Come 
and  help  me." 

94 


DAN    COSTARD'S   TALE 

' "  Most  willingly,"  says  Peridore,  and  took  the 
pick. 

'  When  the  pit  was  up  to  Vigilas  his  neck,  the 
hermit  says,  "  Now  help  me  fetch  water."  So  they 
went  with  buckets  to  the  well,  and  soon  had  it 
brimful  of  water.  Then  Vigilas,  casting  off  his 
leather  frock,  stood  up  meagre  and  naked,  covered 
with  scars  and  matted  hair,  the  edges  of  his  great 
ribs  as  sharp  under  the  skin  as  the  edges  of  knives. 
"  What  now,  O  Vigilas  ? "  says  Peridore,  in  a  quake 
of  fear.  For  answer  Vigilas  lifted  high  his  arms 
and  leaped  into  the  pit.  "  Thus,  my  son,"  says  he, 
gasping  (for  it  was  icy  cold  water),  "  I  do  freeze  the 
flesh  out  of  me." 

* "  Alack,"  says  Peridore,  "  is  the  flesh  yet  so 
strong  in  thee,  my  father  ?  " 

*  Vigilas  said,  "  That  she-devil  in  the  house 
tempteth  me  most  horribly."  Peridore  began  to 
cry  and  wring  his  hands.  "  Ah,  ah,  how  can 
you  think  it  ?  She  is  no  devil,  but  pure  innocence 
all  through.  Oh,  sir,  oh,  blessed  man,  let  her  go, 
let  me  have  her.  She  is  more  dear  to  me  than 
life  itself.     I  must  die  without  her  !  " 

'  "  I  assure  you,"  said  Vigilas,  whose  teeth 
rattled  together  with  cold,  "  that  you  could  not 
die  better.  She  is  plainly  accursed,  of  the  spawning 
of  the  fiend.  I  see  it  all  now."  But  Peridore, 
full    to    overflow    with     misery,    could    not    cease 

95 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

whining  his  prayers  for  Paravail ;  and  the  hermit, 
having  soused  himself  sodden,  got  out  of  the  pit, 
shook  the  wet  off,  and  went  into  his  house.  There 
he  began  again  to  roar,  thunder,  and  exorcise  the 
devil  in  Paravail,  until  the  whole  of  Cauntrip 
shuddered  at  the  noise  of  his  rough  music. 

*  Towards  morning  this  terrible  clamour  ceased  ; 
silence  wrapped  the  world  of  grass  ;  and  on  Peridore 
too  fell  silence  and  a  heavy  swooning  sleep.  Out 
of  this  he  awoke  to  the  sound  of  wicked  voices 
chuckling  and  sniggering  above  him.  Looking  up, 
he  saw  two  witches  on  the  ridge  of  the  roof;  who 
sat  astride  it  face  to  face,  and  obscenely  fondled 
each  other.  Peridore  made  the  cross  upon  himself 
and  watched  them  sideways. 

*  Says  one,  cupping  the  other's  chin,  "  Fly,  Tibby, 
fly!"  But  that  other,  "Nay,  but  wait  till  old 
Sanctity  hath  made  an  end  of  Paravail,  and 
mark  where  he  lays  her  in  earth." 

'  "  Hue !  "  said  the  first,  "  What  good  shall  she 
be  to  us?  The  lass  is  without  a  soul — as  yet, 
as  yet ! " 

'Tib  replies,  "You  have  the  right  of  it.  She 
was  only  suckled  for  a  month — and  that's  no  time 
at  all.  I  fought  Jean  Proudfute  for  her  in 
a  storm  fifteen  years  agone.  Then  slipped  in 
this  old  goat  and  had  her  suckled  by  a  wife.  But 
Legion  stirred  him  to  snatch  her  away  in  a  month ; 

96 


DAN    COSTARD'S   TALE 

and  the  sprout  of  soul  shrivelled.     Hue !  we  shall 
have  her  yet." 

'  They  both  laughed  together  horribly,  with 
a  sound  like  that  of  hoarse  sea-mews.  "  This 
old  enemy  of  ours  hath  undone  himself.  He  is 
over-reached.     We  have  him  fast !  " 

*  "  Wait  you.  Wait  you  a  little  ;  she  lives  yet," 
said  the  first ;  and  the  second,  *'  We  will  wait  for 
the  night.     Come,  come  !  " 

'They  stretched  their  heads  up  into  the  sky, 
and  nosed  all  about  for  the  wind,  as  cormorants  do 
from  their  wet  rocks  in  the  sea.  The  sun's  rays 
began  to  stream  out  from  behind  the  hills. 
"  Time  is,"  says  the  first ;  '^  Kiss  me,  Tib,"  the 
second:  then  "I  fly  with  you."  So  they  kissed 
and  rose  together  and  flew  screaming  off,  away 
from  the  sun ;  and  when  they  were  clear  of  the 
Druse  Ring  they  flew  low  over  the  ground, 
like  owls. 

'  Peridore  tapped  at  the  door  of  the  hut,  needing 
even  the  company  of  the  hermit.  "  Who  is  there, 
in  the  name  of  God  ?  "  came  muttering  the  voice 
of  Vigilas.  "  It  is  I,  Peridore,  in  the  name  of 
God,"  says  the  young  man.  Presently  Vigilas  came 
blinking  out. 

'  "  Oh,  Vigilas  !  oh,  Vigilas  !  "  says  Peridore 
on  his  knees,  "  Give  me  news  of  Paravail." 

*  "  What  is  she  to  thee,  fool  ?  " 

97  G 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

*  **  There  have  been  here  two  witches  astride 
thy  thatch,"  says  Peridore,  "  who  report  that  she 
will  die  to-night." 

* "  She  shall  be  saved  this  night,  by  my  old 
head ! "  cried  the  hermit,  lifting  up  his  hands  to 
Heaven.  Then  Peridore  said,  "  Here  is  the  second 
morning  since  I  have  eaten.  Give  me  food,  sir, 
or  I  also  must  die." 

*  Vigilas  asked  him,  "  Why,  what  is  thy  life  or 
death  to  me  ? "  and  Peridore  had  no  answer  to 
that.  Nevertheless  Vigilas,  when  he  had  said  his 
prayers,  standing  rigid  in  his  water-pit,  gave  him 
a  hunch  of  bread.  They  sat  together  in  the  sun, 
eating. 

'  "  The  witches,  sir,"  says  Peridore,  "  report  of 
Paravail  that  she  hath  no  soul,  by  reason  of  her 
short  suckling  at  my  mother's  breast.  How  then 
can  she  be  damned  ?  " 

*  Vigilas  replied,  "  But  I  know  that  she  hath 
a  soul,  and  a  black  soul,  into  which  the  devil 
hath  entered  to  possess  it.  For  sure  I  am  that 
none  other  but  a  devil  could  have  tempted  me  so 
sorely." 

* "  But,  sir,"  says  Peridore,  "  how  if  the  devil 
should  have  dared  enter  into  thee  ?  "  Vigilas  stared 
at  him, 

*  "  How  can  that  be  ?  "  saith  he. 

'  Peridore   says,   **  I   am  a  silly,   unlearned  shep- 

98 


DAN    COSTARD'S   TALE 

herd,  little  aware  of  the  ways  of  holy  men  of  God  ; 
yet  I  seem  to  have  heard  say  that  such  have  been 
tempted  before  now  by  snares  set  within.  So 
I  say  that  the  evil  we  think  to  find  in  the  world 
may  be  of  our  own  devising,  as  it  were.  For  when 
I  eat  too  freely  and  overload  my  belly,  I  see  the 
green  grass  as  dust,  and  blotches  in  the  sweet 
air.     So  may  it  be  with  other  lusts." 

* "  Fool,"  saith  Vigilas,  "  you  speak  as  a  fool,  of 
your  body,  but  I  of  spiritual  matters  wherein  only 
I  am  learned.  What  hath  the  belly  to  do  with 
the  soul  ? " 

* "  Why,  much,"  says  Peridore,  **  since  the  soul 
resides  in  the  body." 

* "  I  cannot  hear  thee,  I  cannot  hear  thee ! " 
cries  Vigilas,  perturbed.  **  I  hear  nothing  but  the 
snorting  of  fiends.  Off,  black  thief!  I  defy  thy 
name ! "  And  he  went  back  fighting  his  way 
through  the  air,  and  ceased  not  all  that  day  to 
cry  out  and  protest  against  the  devil  in  Paravail. 
Peridore  sat  hstening  to  him,  with  crisped  hands 
and  a  heart  like  water,  until  about  the  going  down 
of  the  sun,  when  the  sound  suddenly  stopped. 

'  At  this  time  Vigilas  came  out  in  a  shivery 
shake,  with  his  jaw  dropped  (so  that  his  mouth 
was  open  and  awry),  his  eyes  as  pale  as  skim- 
milk,  all  quick  with  fright.  He  tried  to  speak 
but   could   not ;    this   gave    Peridore   an   access   of 

99 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

terror  so  sudden  that  he  too  was  choked  in  the 
throat.  There  then  stood  the  pair  of  them,  the 
old  man  and  the  young,  white  and  shaking, 
voiceless,  eyeing  each  other.  Blessed  Vigilas  had 
in  one  hand  a  pick,  in  the  other  a  shovel.  These, 
when  Peridore  saw  them,  forced  words  out  of  him. 

'  *'  Oh,  Vigilas,"  he  said — and  his  voice  was  as 
the  voice  of  one  who  taps  his  throat — "will  you 
make  deeper  your  pit  ?  " 

*  Blessed  Vigilas  said,  croaking,  "  Quick,  dig  a 
grave,  dig  a  grave."     Peridore  howled. 

*  "  Paravail's  grave — oh,  oh  !     Not  so,  Vigilas  ?  " 

* "  Paravail's  grave,"  said  the  hermit.  "  Let  us 
bury  her  deep." 

*  The  heart  of  Peridore  stood  quite  still.  He  felt 
the  blood  ebb  from  his  hands  and  feet  and  leave 
him  dry,  as  when  a  great  suck  of  the  falling  tide 
drains  all  the  sandy  pools  on  a  beach.  But  all  this 
blood  surged  into  his  head,  and  as  his  brain  reeled 
there  eddied  into  the  vortex  a  little  seed  of  rage, 
which  spread  and  grew  till  it  possessed  him  utterly, 
and  showed  him  Vigilas,  and  the  ground  beneath 
him,  the  sky,  the  rocks  and  all  the  plain  one 
smouldering  sea.  Vigilas,  looking  stupidly  at  the 
work  on  hand,  says  in  his  throat,  "  Help  me  dig 
the  grave." 

*  "  That  I  will  do,"  says  Peridore, 

"'You  are  young,"  says  Vigilas,  "and  I  am  old, 

loo 


DAN    COSTARD'S   TALE 

and  very  weary.  Do  you  take  the  pick."  Peridore 
shook  at  the  knees. 

' "  No,  no,  no  !  keep  the  pick.  I  will  not  have 
it,"  says  he,  quite  white. 

* "  You  shall  do  as  I  bid  you,"  said  Vigilas,  not 
used  to  being  gainsaid  ;  so  he  threw  down  the  pick. 
Peridore  took  it  up.  They  set  to  work.  Peridore 
picked  up  the  ground  to  half  a  foot  or  a  foot-depth, 
then  gave  over  while  Vigilas  shovelled  out  the  loose 
earth,  talking  to  himself  as  he  wrought.  "  Long 
before  she  came  the  devil  tempted  me" — thus  he 
rambled  on — "  in  the  shape  of  a  grey  cur,  which  lay 
panting  at  my  door  and  snapped  at  me  as  I  went  in 
and  out.  When  I  kicked  the  beast  it  yelped  a  little 
and  died.  I  buried  it,  but  it  came  again.  I  kicked 
again  and  it  died  again.  I  left  it  unburied,  and  it 
stank.  Many  weeks  this  torment  endured.  Now 
if  I  bury  Paravail  deep,  I  know  very  well  she  will 
come  back,  and  all  our  labour  be  in  vain.  But 
I  choose  rather  to  bury  than  to  leave  her,  because 
of  the  lovely  semblance  she  hath.  Could  I  endure 
to  see  her  fretted  by  worms  ?  O  Christ,  my  King 
and  Lord  !  "  He  jumped  out  of  the  pit,  distraught 
by  his  fancies,  and  said  fiercely  to  Peridore  who  was 
watching  him,  "  Pick  up  more  earth.  It  is  not  near 
deep  enough."  Peridore  shut  his  eyes,  to  hide  if  he 
could  the  glare  of  blood,  and  picked  up  another 
foot-depth.     In  his  turn  Vigilas   set  to   shovelling 

lOI 


NEW   CANTERBURY  TALES 

again.  **  She  is  a  very  little  person,"  says  he,  mut- 
tering and  complaining  over  his  work,  "  whose 
middle  my  two  hands  could  span.  Yet  she  should 
lie  all  the  deeper  for  that."  He  was  so  hoarse  that 
he  could  scarcely  speak ;  his  breath  came  short,  like 
a  dog's.  Now,  Peridore  felt  the  veins  in  his  neck 
swell,  and  knew  that  he  could  not  much  longer 
command  his  rage.  So  when  Blessed  Vigilas 
began  again,  saying,  "  Who  would  have  thought 
that  so  much  evil  could  dwell  in  so  slight  a  body  ?  " 
Peridore  stopped  his  labour,  and  cried  out  hotly, 
**  Enough.     It  were  better  thou  saidst  no  more." 

*  "  How  so  ?  "  says  Vigilas,  ruminating  with  a  foot 
on  his  spade's  shoulder. 

'  "  I  cannot  tell  thee,"  says  Peridore,  "  but  it  is 
true." 

*  But  Vigilas  could  not  be  silent.  After  a  while 
he  began  to  mutter  again,  saying,  "  This  is  the 
sorest  trial  vouchsafed  me  yet  by  God^s  unspeakable 
favour." 

*  "  Beware,  Vigilas,"  says  Peridore. 

*  "  Ah,"  quoth  he,  "  and  I  have  been  wary.  Fif- 
teen year  tempted !  First  by  a  sucking  child,  and 
then  by  a  pretty  imp  that  played  at  my  knee;  and 
then  by  a  sobering  maid  that  must  needs  rise  up  and 
go  to  bed  in  the  dark  ;  and  then  by  a  sHp  of  dan- 
gerous grace,  that  would  coil  herself  about  the  heart 
of  God's   chosen    servant  and  strangle  him — alas  I 

102 


DAN    COSTARD'S   TALE 

alas !  "  cries  Vigilas  with  a  clear  call  of  anguish, 
"  What  have  I  done,  O  God  ?  " 

*  "  Murder,  thou  red  thief!  "  says  Peridore  deeply, 
and  drove  at  him  with  the  pick. 

*As  he  struck,  having  a  sudden  compunction,  he 
turned  the  haft  in  his  hand,  so  hit  old  Vigilas  with 
the  flat  of  the  pick.  Even  so,  notwithstanding,  he 
knocked  him  senseless,  that  he  lay  without  stir, 
huddled  up  in  the  pit  he  had  been  digging  for 
Paravail.  Peridore  ran  over  him  into  the  hut  and 
saw  his  love  in  a  shroud,  laid  out  east  and  west  upon 
the  floor,  on  her  breast  a  wooden  cross,  candles 
burning  at  her  head  and  feet.  He  picked  her  up  in 
his  arms  as  she  was,  throwing  down  the  candles  ;  he 
turned  out  of  the  hut,  leaped  over  Vigilas  (who  still 
lay  where  he  had  been  felled),  and  ran  like  a  hunted 
hare  westward  over  the  downs.  Fear  fixed  his  eyes, 
fear  drove  him  so  fast  that  he  never  once  looked 
behind  him  to  see,  as  he  must  have  seen,  fire  catch 
the  hermit's  hut  of  Bleme  and  writhe  towards 
heaven.  Love  fleeted  beside  him,  despair  drove  him 
forward ;  but  overhead  he  knew  he  had  fearful  com- 
pany. He  heard  wings  beating,  caught  hissed 
words,  wicked  voices  now  and  again.  He  stayed 
not,  he  turned  not  his  face  away  from  the  west,  but 
ran  on  and  on,  many  a  mile,  many  a  league,  over 
hill,  over  dale,  through  marish  and  standing  pool, 
by  the  side  of  woods,  deep  in  bracken  and  tangle ; 

103 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

choosing  wherever  he  could  the  bosky  hollows ; 
keeping  his  face  steady,  breathing  through  his  nose ; 
husbanding  all  the  strength  he  had — and  that  was 
much.  But  the  wings  above  him  never  ceased  their 
pulsing  flight,  the  voices  grew  bolder  as  the  darkness 
gathered. 

'  He  knew  they  were  witches.  **  Chase,  chase  !  " 
says  one :  another,  "  He  hath  the  soulless  child  !  " 
"  Vigilas,  our  old  enemy,  is  dead !  "  screamed  the 
first :  "  Peridore  too  shall  die,"  the  second.  Anon  a 
third  met  them  in  mid-air,  crying,  "  Head  him  off, 
head  him  off!  He  must  never  find  the  Holy 
Mount !  "  At  her  the  two  others  mocked  as  they 
swept  on  :  "  What  if  he  do  then  ?  Paravail  is  dead. 
He  carries  a  corpse.  We  follow  to  get  it."  *'  What 
will  you  make  of  her  ? "  "  Candles,  candles  ! 
Follow."  So  then  three  chased  him  instead  of  two, 
and  tried  to  baffle  him  with  their  flaggy  wings ;  and 
as  he  flinched,  his  heart  was  near  breaking,  as  his 
back  was  near.  He  had  no  feeling  in  the  arms 
which  bore  up  Paravail.  One  was  fixed  in  the 
breast  of  his  smock,  the  other  wound  into  the  first. 
He  could  not  drop  her  if  he  would,  dared  not  stay 
for  breath  lest  he  should  stay  altogether;  but  his 
forces  were  at  an  end  :  near  the  edge  of  Cauntrip 
Plain  he  stumbled  over  a  rabbit-bury,  dropped,  could 
not  get  up,  lay  heaped  on  Paravail's  body  like  a  shot 
bird.     "  They  shall  rip  me  to  pieces  to  get  her,"  was 

104 


DAN    COSTARD'S   TALE 

the  last  thought  he  had.  With  shrill  screams  the 
witches  raced  on,  for  by  now  it  was  densely  dark. 
So  they  out-rode  and  over-rode  him  where  he  lay  in 
deep  sleep,  crouched  upon  the  form  of  Paravail. 
I  know  not  how  far  he  may  have  travelled,  being 
little  acquainted  with  his  country — many  miles  from 
Bleme  and  his  own  abiding-place  it  must  have  been, 
near  the  limits  of  the  plain. 

'  The  sun  was  high  in  a  dome  of  clear  blue  when 
he  awoke  and  looked  about  him.  He  was  on  the 
slope  of  a  falling,  broken  land  in  a  country  he  had  no 
knowledge  of — for  your  true  shepherd  never  leaves 
the  little  plot  of  earth  which  rounds  his  labours,  and 
receives  himself  at  the  last.  Below  him,  and  below 
a  gentle  woodland  lay  a  fertile,  laughing  country  of 
hill  and  dale  ;  no  great  way  off  a  walled  city,  with 
many  churches  in  it,  and  one,  notably,  larger  than 
all,  overbearing  huge  and  grey,  with  a  spire  whose 
topmost  cross  seemed  to  be  drowsing  in  the  sky, 
alone  above  our  familiar  air.  This  was  that  very 
city  of  Rewish  which  had  beatified  Vigilas  in  his 
life  time,  though  Peridore  did  not  know  it.  South 
and  west  of  it  were  the  woods,  lapping  like  a  tide 
against  the  skirts  of  the  plain  ;  and  beyond  this 
green  ocean  he  saw  the  blue  peaks  and  great  misty 
shoulders  of  mountains.  There,  in  that  far  dim 
glory,  should  be  the  Holy  Mount  which  the  witches 
had   told   each   other   he   must  never   reach.      He 

105 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

understood  their  fear,  for  he  knew — as  all  his  coun- 
try did  by  name — the  Holy  Mount,  abode  of  hermits, 
sanctuary,  assurance  of  Heaven's  promised  bliss, 
shrine  indeed  of  that  miraculous  Spear  with  which 
Longinus  pierced  our  Saviour's  side.  Pilgrims  (in 
clouds  or  trailing  files)  struggled  across  Cauntrip  to 
win  that  sacred  place,  and  in  time  came  back  to  the 
villages  of  the  east  with  the  balm  of  its  unearthly 
peace  upon  their  mild  faces.  If  he  could  find  his 
way  through  the  guardian  woods  and  scale  the 
splintry  rocks  (Paravail  yet  incorrupt  in  his  arms), 
he  did  believe  he  should  have  her  back  in  life  :  so 
and  not  otherwise.  Thus  reasoned  young  Peridore 
and  said  his  prayers :  afterwards  he  dared  to  look  at 
Paravail  as  she  lay  covered  on  his  knees,  to  open  the 
sheet  and  see  her  face. 

'  Although  he  had  seen  in  the  course  of  his  short 
life  dead  man,  dead  girl,  dead  child — for  in  his  day, 
as  in  our  own  still  sorrowful  day,  life  and  death  were 
bedfellows — here  upon  his  lap  lay  a  beautiful  dead 
thing  so  frail  that  before  it  his  mere  breathing 
seemed  to  stop,  as  if  he  feared  that  the  wind  of  his 
nostrils  might  blow  it  away  like  a  gossamer  wreath. 
The  face  of  her,  the  hands,  the  feet,  were  colour  of 
grey  wax  ;  but  her  hair  (all  that  he  recognized  as  of 
her)  seemed  of  deep  burning  colour,  like  the  embers 
in  the  heart  of  a  fire.  Her  lines  were  sharp  and  fine, 
her   nose   pinched  (but    not   very  much),  the   chin 

io6 


DAN    COSTARD'S   TALE 

a  bleak  little  promontory,  the  eyes  closed  fast,  as  if 
the  lids,  being  heavy,  had  shut  of  their  own  weight ; 
there  were  rings  of  a  darker  hue  about  them.  Her 
mouth,  not  quite  closed,  was  still  drawn  tight,  was 
still  ashen  with  the  shock  of  terror  which  had  killed 
her.  Peridore,  who  could  kiss  the  holy  image  in  the 
pax-brede,  dared  not  touch  with  his  mouth  this  pure, 
cold,  stricken  thing.  It  froze  the  love  out  of  him, 
and  the  pity,  and  the  desire  he  had  had.  All  that 
remained  in  him  to  her-ward  was  awe,  holy  fear — 
this,  and  a  glowing  spot  of  indignation,  that  what 
was  so  splendid  once — to  wit,  her  mouth  like  folded 
rose-leaves — should  now  be  gray  dust.  After  a  while 
this  grain  of  anger  grew  to  flame  in  him  ;  he  found 
himself  possessed  by  it  so  greatly  that  he  feared  to 
go  mad. 

'  He  saw  two  wood-doves  in  a  tree  below  him. 
One  sat  in  the  nest,  the  other  bowed  on  the  branch, 
singing  beside  her.  Peridore  put  down  Paravail  in 
the  fern,  and  with  a  stone  killed  one  of  the  birds. 
He  cut  the  breast  open  and  touched  Paravail's  lips 
with  the  blood,  not  able  to  bear  the  dead  hue  of 
them.  Deep  crimson  they  showed,  and  wet.  He 
touched  her  cheeks  with  the  same  hot  liquor, 
anointed  her  hands  and  hair.  A  drop  or  two  of  this 
blood  went  into  her  mouth  at  the  corner ;  and  she 
sighed,  and  opened  her  loaded  eyes,  and  looked  at 
Peridore. 

107 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

*  Not  surprise,  not  joy,  not  thanksgiving  filled  him 
now,  but  despair  more  black  than  at  first.  She 
lived.  Slowly  and  timidly  came  back  her  breath, 
slowly  the  tide  of  colour  turned,  as  the  grey  was 
quickened  by  the  sanguine.  But  those  eyes 
wherewith  she  looked  at  him  so  awfully  were  now 
dead,  whereas  the  body  lived — vacant,  unmindful, 
void  of  understanding,  like  streamless  water  in 
a  field  of  snow.  She  looked  and  knew  him  not, 
looked  and  saw  nothing,  looked  and  received  no 
signal  for  her  blood.  What  the  witches  had  said 
of  her  once  falsely,  now  was  true.  Here  was  an 
empty  shell,  here  a  tabernacle  without  a  sojourner, 
a  shrine  here  without  a  god.  If  she  lived,  it  was  not 
for  him  ;  if  he  loved,  it  was  not  this  shed  garment 
of  a  girl :  now  his  girl  was  dead  indeed.  He  showed 
to  God  in  the  sky  his  pinched,  miserable  face,  he 
stretched  towards  Him  clenched  and  desperate  fists. 
"  O  thou  King  of  Taunts,  now  Thou  hast  excelled 
Thyself!  "  cried  he  blasphemously  to  God.  It 
seemed  to  him  then  as  though  a  light  flaw  of  cloud 
swept  over  and  put  out  the  sun,  that  the  land  grew 
dreary,  the  wind  chill.  Paravail  whimpered  a  little, 
stirred  in  his  arms,  turned  her  head  about,  but  ever 
towards  him,  nozzling  in  his  smock.  The  thought 
like  a  gush  of  blood  leaped  up  from  his  heart  to 
choke  him.  "  Here  I  hold  in  arms  a  new-born 
child  I     But  one  month  suckled  on  the  breast  of  my 

io8 


DAN    COSTARD'S   TALE 

mother  !  O  miracle  of  grace  vouchsafed  !  I  will 
arise  and  go  to  the  Holy  Mount,  that  she  may  be 
nourished."  Tears  of  joy  streamed  down  his  cheeks, 
down  his  smock,  to  Paravail  on  his  lap.  He  took 
her  up  in  his  arms  and  went  down  with  her  into  the 
great  woods. 

'  Long  time,  time  without  reckoning,  he  battled 
there,  growing  old  with  resource,  having  for  his  only 
guide  the  chance  gleams  of  the  sun,  meeting  no 
one,  living  as  he  could  on  herbs  and  roots,  and  what 
wild  animals  he  had  the  wit  to  kill.  At  first  and 
for  the  most  part  Paravail  slept,  and  he  must  carry 
her ;  when  she  awoke  it  was  for  hunger's  sake, 
which  he  (poor  wretch  !)  must  satisfy  as  best  he 
might.  No  questing  parent-bird  hunted  harder  than 
he.  Afterwards  she  seemed  to  grow  stronger  and, 
led  by  him,  able  to  walk  a  little.  This  she  did  most 
patiently,  through  thicket,  holt  and  morass,  beautiful 
wanderer,  nothing  saying,  nothing  seeing,  heedless, 
inconscient,  extraordinarily  meek,  without  mind  or 
motion  of  the  affections,  without  memory  or  look 
forward.  He  was  apt  to  despair  of  her  chiefly  on 
this  account,  that  she  never  fashioned  words  to 
meet  her  needs  :  hungry,  she  whimpered  ;  filled,  she 
slept ;  fondled,  she  laughed  or  crooned  softly  as 
children  use ;  kissed,  she  kissed  not  again,  but  half 
opened  her  mouth  at  the  touch  of  his ;  and  as  he 
kissed  her,  her  soft,  soulless  eyes  pored  upon    his 

109 


NEW   CANTERBURY  TALES 

face,  wondering  to  see  that  so  near  and  its  act  so 
foolish.  So  he  grew  ashamed,  and  kissed  her  not  at 
all  unless  she  slept.  She  ate  whatsoever  he  would 
give  her,  slept  a  great  deal,  sometimes  (but  seldom) 
moaned  in  her  sleep,  breathed  very  short,  seemed 
easiest  when  he  had  her  in  his  arms,  or  by  the  hand. 
For  his  own  sanity's  sake,  he  found  that  he  must 
talk  to  her,  even  though  she  neither  answered  or 
seemed  to  hear  him.  Child  as  she  had  become,  so 
he  learned  to  treat  her,  and  so  he  loved  her  now — 
as  you  love  a  young  child,  without  a  whisper  of 
desire  to  sully  the  pure  pitifulness  of  your  love. 
One  hope  remained  and  one  stay  :  let  him  get  her  to 
the  Holy  Mount  and  all  must  be  well.  Do  him  the 
justice  to  believe,  if  you  can,  that  he  had  no  thought 
of  his  own  gain  in  this.  No :  for  the  sake  of  that 
Paravail,  whom  once  he  had  loved,  he  left  his 
father's  house  ;  now,  clean  of  all  mannish  thought, 
for  the  sake  of  this  witless  Paravail  he  gave  up 
hope  itself,  and  took  arms  against  the  world  as  for 
a  babe  of  his  own  adoption.  He  fathered,  you  may 
say,  her  by  whom  he  had  once  hoped  to  be  a  father : 
the  mother  of  his  children  was  now  his  child.  Thus 
Peridore  endured  with  clean  striving,  and  with 
honour  stripped  himself  of  all  but  honour.  So  at 
last,  in  a  little  heathy  place,  he  saw  the  peaks  of 
mountains  very  near ;  he  saw  the  chapels  gleaming 
white,  thin  trees  that  brushed  the  blue,  a  temple  in 

no 


DAN   COSTARD'S   TALE 

a  grove,  the  Holy  Mount.  Blessing  God  for  the 
prize  of  his  endeavour  set  fair  before  him,  he  took 
Paravail  by  her  patient  hand,  and  struck  into  the 
last  thickets  of  the  forest. 

*  Now  as  he  walked,  filled  with  high  hope,  the 
forest  melted  away  into  aisles  and  clusters  of  wood- 
land, open  stretches  of  brake  and  heath,  sparse 
trees,  grassy  places  where  water  was.  Here  a  cool 
breeze  blew  all  day  long,  the  air  seemed  surcharged 
with  the  wealth  of  unaccustomed  light.  A  new 
world  opened,  and  a  strange,  favoured  country  side. 
Flowers  were  at  his  feet  of  sorts  unknown  before  ; 
the  builder's  stuff,  the  builder's  art  was  new.  He 
passed  a  little  town  of  white  houses,  tilled  fields 
about  it ;  he  saw  children  at  play,  a  white  church 
with  a  tower  apart,  which  canted  a  little  to  one 
side.  All  this  was  set  in  a  mist  of  trees  which  bore 
dropping  purple  flowers.  Here  he  begged  some 
bread  and  milk  for  Paravail,  and  rested  an  hour 
or  so  on  the  steps  of  the  church. 

'Just  beyond  this  place  a  road  ran  sharply  up 
between  chalk  banks,  with  greensward  on  either 
side  dotted  with  juniper  and  yew.  Little  shrines 
were  set  at  every  half-mile — Christ  on  the  Cross, 
the  Mother  and  the  Child,  Longinus  holding  up  tlie 
Spear,  Ursula  mothering  a  legion,  Christopher  who 
bore  the  World  over  the  flood,  the  Magdalene 
clothed  in  her  hair.     The  road  grew  more  broken  as 

III 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

it  rose  ;  out  of  the  turf  jutted  boulders  of  rock. 
At  last  he  climbed  upon  the  bare  rock  itself,  and 
only  found  verdure  and  flowers  in  patches,  trees  that 
grew  rarely,  as  by  grace  of  the  stone.  Ever  higher 
and  higher  before  him  rose  the  Holy  Mount ;  but  the 
shrines  ceased  not  to  mark  his  way  ;  and  now  as  he 
climbed  in  keener  air  he  could  see  the  dappled 
country  below  him — the  white  hamlet,  a  river  not 
found  before,  the  dreaming  woods,  then  (like  a  violet 
sea)  the  great  plain  where  his  home  had  been. 
Thither  he  looked  not  long,  neither  heard  any  cry 
in  his  own  heart  for  those  familiar  places ;  but 
turned  his  face  ardently  above  him  to  watch  the 
thin  waving  trees  which  stand  about  the  Temple  of 
the  Spear,  the  hope  and  promise  of  the  broad  eaves, 
of  the  brave  sunshine,  of  the  solitude. 

'  Now  he  has  mounted  the  last  ridge,  the  last 
shoulder,  leading  Paravail ;  and  now  he  stands 
looking  into  the  temple.  Flowers  grow  about  his 
torn  feet,  wide  open  to  the  sun  ;  the  humming  of 
bees  fills  the  air;  he  smells  the  thyme.  Within  the 
deep  recesses  of  the  court  youths  in  white  robes 
move  quietly  to  and  fro  upon  the  sacred  business  of 
the  place.  Paravail  begins  to  tremble.  Feeling  her 
agitation,  Peridore's  knees  knock  together.  All  is 
very  still.     Yet  he  dares  to  go  in. 

'  He  follows  the  sound  of  water  splashing  on 
bricks ;  he  goes  into  the  court ;  Paravail  follows  as 

112 


DAN    COSTARD'S   TALE 

she  is  led.  Far  within  the  court  he  sees  the  image 
of  our  Lady  seated,  the  Child  in  her  lap ;  and  here 
he  stands  irresolute,  afraid  to  go  further.  A  youth 
in  a  white  tunic,  barefooted,  comes  out  from  behind 
a  green  curtain,  stands  looking  gravely  at  the  new 
comers.  Peridore  holds  out  his  hand,  palm 
upwards.  "  I  claim  succour  of  this  holy  place," 
says  he.  "  For  whom  ? "  the  youth  asks  him. 
**  For  this  child,  who  was  dead,"  says  Peridore, 
**  and  now  is  new  born." 

*  The  youth  replies,  "  Give  her  to  me."  **  Not 
so,"  says  Peridore ;  "  you  can  do  no  more  than 
I,  nor  yet  so  much."  Then  says  the  youth,  *'  Stay 
here,  then,  till  I  come  back."  He  goes  away. 
Peridore  sits  at  the  foot  of  the  image  with  Paravail 
beside  him.  He  hears  the  pigeons  murmuring  on 
the  roof,  the  light  falling  of  water,  no  other  sounds. 
He  says  his  prayers. 

'  The  youth  came  back  after  a  while,  saying  to 
Peridore,  *'  You  shall  follow  me  with  the  child." 
So  Peridore  got  up  and  followed  him  through  many 
corridors  until  he  was  brought  between  curtains  into 
a  long,  dim,  fragrant  room,  whose  ceiling  was 
coffered  with  cedar-wood,  and  at  one  end  a  recess 
curtained  white,  with  a  bed  in  it  :  and  sitting  on  the 
bed  a  young  woman,  dark-haired  and  full  in  the  eye, 
in  a  white  gown  which  was  held  loosely  about  her 
person  by  a  red  girdle.     Peridore  knelt  down,  and 

113  H 


NEW   CANTERBURY  TALES 

guided  by  his  hand  Paravail  followed  him.  Then 
the  youth  said,  who  had  brought  them  in,  "  Here  is 
the  succour  you  need."  **  I  am  sure  of  it,"  says 
Peridore ;  and  the  young  woman,  "Give  her  to 
me."  Peridore  led  Paravail  forward ;  and  as  he 
came  on  he  saw  the  young  woman  unfasten  the 
girdle  that  confined  her  gown,  and  shake  her  head 
so  that  all  her  hair  fell  loose  about  her  shoulders  and 
neck.  Then  Paravail  was  brought  to  her  and  at  her 
hands  received.  Peridore,  his  charge  given  over, 
stood  at  one  end  of  the  bed,  the  youth  at  the  other. 

'  The  young  woman  clasped  Paravail  about  the 
body  and  held  her  very  close  to  herself,  looking  up 
into  her  face.  This  she  did  for  some  little  time, 
and  slowly  Peridore  saw  a  change  come  over  the 
girl.  Paravail,  who  had  been  dead  white  ever  since 
she  had  awoken  on  the  hill-side,  now  flooded  with 
colour.  She  shut  her  eyes,  swayed  about,  seemed 
as  if  she  must  fall.  But  the  young  woman  held  her 
close.  Slowly  then  her  knees  faltered  ;  and  as  she 
sank  the  woman  opened  her  own  knees  and  received 
Paravail  upon  them,  still  holding  her  in  arms. 
Paravail  fell  gently  into  her  lap,  and  lay  there  uncon- 
scious, with  shut  eyes  and  open  lips,  breathing  very 
fast.  Then  the  young  woman  laid  the  girl's  cheek 
against  her  bosom,  and  opening  her  gown  bared  her 
breast.  And  as  she  put  the  nipple  between  Paravail's 
lips  she  whispered    low  in  her  ear,  urgent,  secret 

114 


DAN    COSTARD'S   TALE 

words  which  Peridore  could  not  hear  ;  and  Paravail, 
after  one  or  two  shakings  of  the  head,  one  or  two 
struggles,  one  or  two  jerks  of  her  body,  lay  quite 
still,  with  shut  eyes  and  slow-moving  hands,  drink- 
ing deeply  at  the  fount  of  our  life.  The  only  sound 
Peridore  heard,  above  and  besides  that  of  Paravail 
drinking,  was  the  knocking  of  his  own  thankful 
heart.  **  Are  you  content  ?  "  asked  him  the  youth 
who  had  guided  him,  in  a  low  voice.  Peridore 
bowed  his  head.     Then  that  youth  took  him  away. 

*  Afterwards  he  understood,  without  learning,  the 
meaning  of  these  things,  but  not  until  the  full  time 
of  Paravail's  suckling  had  been  accompHshed.  One 
month  she  had  drunk  of  Ankeret  Foliot ;  five  full 
months  more  she  must  needs  be  nourished  here,  for 
shorter  time  than  this  will  not  suffice  to  woo 
a  human  soul  into  a  child's  body.  That  is  the  old 
rule,  wonderfully  signified  in  the  case  of  this 
Paravail.  During  such  time,  while  he  saw  nothing 
of  her,  I  know  that  he  too  renewed  himself,  suffering 
without  being  conscious  of  it,  a  silent  change.  For 
as  he  had  got  fortitude  before  by  the  driving  of 
youthful  passion,  so  now  he  won  an  equal  mind, 
right  judgment,  cool  blood  after  heat,  fear  of  God, 
patience,  disposition  of  the  reins,  subjection  of  all 
members.  Winning  these  he  grew  from  lad  to  man, 
and  instead  of  the  boyish  doting  wherewith  he  had 
regarded  Paravail  at  first,  he  had  strenuous,  long- 

115 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

minded,  equable  love  :  in  a  word,  from  innocence 
he  had  come  through  scorching  to  win  innocence 
back. 

'  At  the  end  of  five  full  months,  in  the  mellov^r 
days  of  harvest,  he  received  Paravail  from  the 
hands  of  the  young  woman  who  had  fostered  her ; 
and  whether  by  reason  of  his  own  discipline  or  of 
hers — a  hard  matter  to  determine — scarcely  knew 
her  again.  Whereas  she  had  been  little,  now  she 
seemed  tall;  whereas  she  had  been  knit,  now  she 
seemed  lax  and  delicate ;  whereas  the  weather  had 
browned  her  skin,  now  she  was  pale  as  honey.  Her 
eyes  were  mild  and  large  which  had  once  been 
bright,  piercing  and  sharp  as  a  mouse's  eyes.  She 
spoke  gravely,  and  in  a  low  voice ;  she  kept  very 
still.  When  he  came  to  her,  when  she  saw  him 
again,  they  stood  shyly  apart,  as  two  children  who 
meet  for  the  first  time.  Then  Paravail  drew  near  to 
Peridore  and  gave  him  her  cool  cheek  to  kiss;  and 
he  remembered  how,  before,  she  had  been  wont  to 
jump  at  him,  and  with  both  arms  to  cling  to  his 
neck,  her  eager  mouth  questing  for  his.  Now  by  his 
side  with  bent  head  she  knelt  to  kiss  the  knees  of 
her  foster-mother.  With  him,  obedient,  modest, 
pre-sanctified,  chaste,  she  went  down  the  Holy 
Mount  and  began  the  long  way  to  Amberford-Mary 
across  the  plain,  where  his  parents  lived  and  he 
would  wed  her.     No  word  passed  between  them  of 

ii6 


DAN   COSTARD'S   TALE 

this  matter,  but  either  accepted  it — she  with  the 
dutiful  meekness  of  a  wife  sobering  her  heart,  and 
he  with  the  strong  assurance  of  a  man  nascent  in 
him. 

*  One  last  trial  remained  before  these  two  way- 
farers could  stay  their  feet.  As  God  would  have  it, 
when  they  drew  near  to  that  city  of  Rewish  which 
Peridore  had  seen  upon  his  flight,  they  entered  into 
the  gates  of  it,  meaning  to  seek  lodging  for  the  night, 
and  the  consolations  of  the  holy  mass  before  they 
went  further  on  their  journey.  Now,  as  they  moved 
along  the  street  which  goes  from  the  West  Gate  to 
the  Corn  Market,  behold,  two  women  in  red  hoods 
met  them,  looked  intently,  turned  after,  and 
followed  them,  talking  in  whispers,  vehemently  dis- 
puting together.  So  when  our  two,  being  weary 
with  their  travel,  sat  down  in  the  shade  on  the 
steps  of  a  church,  these  other  two  came  by  ;  and 
one  peered  into  Peridore's  face  under  the  brim  of 
his  hat.  Then  she  turned  to  the  other  who  was  by, 
and  said,  *'  This  is  he.  This  is  the  shepherd  whom 
we  chased."  And  then — "  He  hath  been  to  the 
Holy  Mount."  At  this  they  both  shuddered  and 
beat  their  flanks,  saying  to  each  other,  "  We  are 
undone. "  So  they  sped  away  together,  talking 
fast.  Peridore  remembered  the  night  when  witches 
had  chased  him,  but  Paravail,  as  he  believed,  did 
not.     So  he  told  her  nothing  about  it.     They  ate 

117 


NEW   CANTERBURY  TALES 

their  victuals,  and  Paravail  slept  in  the  shade  of  the 
church  door.     Peridore  could  not  sleep. 

'  Now,  presently  there  is  a  great  noise  afar  off, 
which  grows  as  it  comes  nearer :  a  noise  of  running 
feet,  of  a  shrill  woman  crying,  "  This  way,  this 
way ! "  confused  calling,  cries  for  the  Watch. 
Peridore  sits  still.  He  sees  the  woman  in  a  hood 
come  with  a  rabble,  calling  still,  "  This  way,  this 
way  !  Take  the  witch  and  her  leman.  Take  the 
burner  of  Bleme!"  She  points  out  Peridore.  Then 
they  come  and  seize  him ;  Paravail  also  they  take 
and  bind  her  hands  behind  her.  Each  is  led 
a  different  way :  he  to  the  common  gaol,  she  to  the 
place  of  bad  women. 

*  Paravail  in  the  stews,  as  a  flower  set  in  this 
monstrous  bed  of  weeds,  sits  apart,  slim  and  tall, 
while  the  lost  wretches  clamour  and  rail  about  her. 
Not  a  word  has  she  to  say  to  them,  for  she  knows 
not  their  language,  being  new  come,  as  it  were, 
from  the  knees  of  her  mother.  But  Peridore  eats 
misery  in  a  solitary  cell,  and  the  rats  come  to  eat 
in  his  company. 

*  They  bring  him  up  before  the  Assize,  charged 
with  the  burning  of  the  hut  at  Bleme  Barrow  and 
attempt  to  kill  and  murder  the  holy  tenant  thereof 
with  a  pick.  Peridore  denies  the  first,  admits  the 
second.  Asked  how  he  justifies  so  atrocious  a  deed, 
he  says  nothing,   because  in  his  heart  he  has   no 

ii8 


DAN    COSTARD'S  TALE 

grudge  against  Blessed  Vigilas  and  will  not  condemn 
the  man.  He  is  adjudged  to  death  by  hanging. 
"Be  it  so,"  says  he ;  "  but  I  ask  one  grace  of  you. 
Let  me  see  Paravail  before  I  die,  yet  let  her  not 
see  me  die."  They  tell  him  that  she  has  been 
denounced  for  a  possessed  on  the  testimony  of 
two  women.  "  Foh  1  "  says  Peridore,  shocked, 
"  these  women  are  themselves  notorious  witches, 
who  sat  by  night  obscenely  on  the  roof-tree  of  old 
Vigilas,  and  compassed  his  destruction,  and  mine, 
and  Paravail's.  And  now  you  permit  them  to  do 
it ! "  They  say,  "  Very  well,  we  will  send  for 
Blessed  Vigilas,  and  hear  what  he  hath  to  say 
concerning  the  girl  accused."  "  Ah,  God  of  gods, 
never  do  that  !  "  cries  Peridore,  knowing  very  well 
what  the  hermit  believed.  But  they  did  send  for 
him,  to  be  in  Rewish  on  a  certain  day,  when  a  fire 
would  be  ready  for  Paravail,  and  for  Peridore  a  new 
rope. 

*  That  day  came.  Paravail,  bound,  was  led  out 
and  tied  to  a  stake  in  the  midst  of  brushwood  and 
kindling-wood ;  Peridore  was  roped  about  the  neck, 
ready  to  be  swung  upon  a  gallows  over  the  fire 
which  should  consume  Paravail.  Thus  as  they 
waited  for  Blessed  Vigilas,  Peridore  ceased  not  to 
comfort  Paravail  with  words  of  great  cheerfulness 
and  good  hope.  Anon  there  is  a  shout  by  the  gates, 
"  Hail  the  man  of  God  !      Ha,    Blessed  Vigilas  1 " 

119 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

and  Vigilas  came  striding  through  the  press  of 
people  with  cavernous  eyes  glowing  like  coals,  and 
a  fearful  white  face  wherethrough  the  bones  showed 
purplish.  He  went  directly  to  the  fire  where 
Paravail  was  bound,  and  pointed  to  it  with  his 
shaking  hand.  "  Loose  me  that  maid,"  said  he,  as 
hoarse  as  an  old  sheep.  It  was  done.  Then, 
pointing  in  like  manner  to  Peridore,  he  saith  again, 
"  Loose  me  him  ;  "  and  he  was  obeyed. 

*  Then  Blessed  Vigilas  turned  to  the  people  and 
said,  **  Vain  glory  hath  nearly  consumed  me  :  there 
is  little  left  for  the  rope  and  the  fire.  But  because 
I  devised  the  murder  of  this  innocent  I  am  worthy 
of  the  rope ;  and  because  the  devil  in  me  caused  me 
to  see  a  devil  in  her,  he  must  be  scorched  in  the  fire. 
And  because  my  old  enemy  the  devil  thinketh  to 
have  me  in  Hell  at  his  pleasure,  he  shall  have  me 
there  against  his  pleasure.  Assuredly  I  will  go  to 
Hell.  I  will  go  down  to  him  to  his  familiar 
camping-ground  and  give  him  battle.  Fifty  year 
five  have  I  contended  with  him,  and  mostly  beaten 
him,  as  you,  men  of  Rewish,  can  testify.  Now  let 
God  testify  (since  you  shall  never  see  it)  that  I  go 
to  Hell  willingly,  to  do  His  work  there,  when 
I  contend  with  Legion  in  the  sulphurous  field  in 
scecnla  scBculonim.  For  in  Hell  also  should  God 
Almighty  be  served,  and  I  will  do  it." 

'  He     turned     to    Paravail    and    said,     "  Child, 

I20 


DAN   COSTARD'S   TALE 

Paravail,  I  have  wronged  thee  from  the  very 
beginning,  but  this  youth  hath  loved  thee  well  from 
the  beginning.  His  simplicity  is  better  than  my 
cunning.  Go  thou  to  him,  and  love  and  obey  him  ; 
for  he  hath  won  thee  par  avail ! "  He  gave  her 
hand  into  Peridore's,  saying,  "  Boy  in  years,  that 
through  bloody  sweat  art  grown  a  man,  I  have 
wronged  thee  grievously ;  but  thou  shalt  think  no 
harm  of  me  now.  For,  through  our  stripes  we  are 
healed — as  thou  art  healed.  And  I,  who  have  not 
had  (as  it  seemeth)  stripes  enough,  now  I  am 
about  to  be  healed.  Take,  love,  cherish,  honour 
Paravail." 

'When  he  had  joined  their  two  hands  and  blessed 
them,  he  said,  "  Now  put  that  rope  about  my  proud 
neck."  They  did  it,  and  he  walked  into  the  midst 
of  the  brushwood.  "  Now,"  said  he,  "  put  fire 
about  my  wicked  body  ;  "  and  he  was  obeyed.  And 
when  the  fire  had  got  good  hold,  as  he  judged  by 
the  crackling  and  leaping  thereof,  he  said,  "  Hoist 
me  up  by  the  rope,  good  people ;  but  not  so  far  that 
the  fire  cannot  catch  me."  As  they  hoisted  him  up 
he  cried  out  in  a  loud  voice,  "  Have  at  thee,  Legion, 
for  a  last  time !  "     And  so  died  Blessed  Vigilas. 

'  At  this  time,  as  the  report  comes  to  me  from 
ancient  men,  eye-witnesses  of  these  things,  a  shower 
of  rose  leaves  fell  out  of  the  clear  sky  and  lay  all 
over  Paravail,  on  her   hair   and    shoulders,  on  her 

121 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

bosom  and  arms,  and  over  the  folds  of  her  gown. 
Some  dropped  from  her  upon  Peridore,  and  one 
(they  say)  near  to  old  Vigilas  in  his  fire.  But  this 
is  not  quite  certain,  because  the  smoke  was  very 
thick  about  him.  And  they  add,  that  after  Blessed 
Vigilas  had  tumbled  from  the  burnt  rope  into  the 
fire,  a  large  white  bird,  having  the  feet  of  a  swan, 
the  body  and  wings  of  an  albatross,  and  the  neck 
and  head  of  a  phoenix  (that  Asian  bird),  flew  up 
from  the  ashes  of  the  fire  and  hung  with  stretched- 
out  wings  over  the  city  of  Rewish ;  then  sailed 
slowly  away  down  the  wind  (which  came  from  the 
east)  until  it  could  be  seen  no  more.  And  that 
night  forty  evil-livers  in  Rewish  were  brought  to 
a  lively  sense  of  their  sin. 

'  The  tale  saith  no  more.  But  I  say  this  very 
sincerely.  That  if  the  fear  of  God  is  the  beginning 
of  wisdom,  the  love  of  Him  is  the  end  of  it ;  to 
which  we  must  all  attain  if  we  would  walk  as 
reasonable,  hopeful  men  —  but  hardly,  until  by 
patience  and  tribulation  we  have  sounded  the  deeps 
of  that  our  early  fear,  and  learned  that  in  a  single 
heart  only  there  is  no  room  for  that  and  Divine 
love.  So  therefore  Christ  teach  us  to  learn. 
Amen  ! ' 

Dan  Costard  with  much  solemnity  ended 
a  discourse,  to  which  Captain  Brazenhead  felt  that 
he  had  really  very  little  to  add.     He  thought  fit, 

122 


DAN    COSTARD'S  TALE 

however,  to  give  the  assurance  of  a  man  of  bloody 
conversation — '  forced  upon  me/  as  he  said,  '  by  the 
necessities  of  this  world,  and  in  all  hope  that  in 
the  next  I  may  have  space  for  amendment' — that  he 
approved  every  word  uttered  by  the  good  priest,  and 
that  he  could  very  well  picture  the  notable  strife 
which  must  have  ensued  if  Blessed  Vigilas,  as  good 
as  his  word,  had  met  old  Blackbeard  face  to  face  in 
the  fields  of  Dis.  *  With  a  good  blade  (said  he),  of 
Ferrarese  make,  for  choice,  waggling  in  his  right 
hand,  his  cloak  over  his  left  arm  for  a  guard,  there 
should  certainly  be  (as  we  say)  the  devil  to  pay.' 
The  Prioress  said  nothing ;  the  Scrivener  implied 
that  the  tale  reminded  him  of  one  very  similar,  but 
much  more  striking,  which  he  had  heard  in  his 
extreme  youth.  Mawdleyn  and  Percival  paced  their 
horses  soberly  side  by  side,  it  being  unobserved 
(as  they  were  unobservant)  that  their  two  hands  had 
not  yet  separated.  It  is  not  quite  certain  that  the 
Prioress  was  hard  of  sight ;  but  there  is  no  doubt 
at  all  that  she  left  the  young  couple  alone. 

So,  riding  comfortably  among  leafy  lanes,  they 
came  by  the  end  of  the  day  to  the  thick  woods 
about  Crooksbury,  and  found  harbourage  in  the 
meadows  ringed  with  trees  by  the  side  of  a  little 
river.  For  that  is  where  Waverley  had,  and  still 
has,  its  pleasant  seat. 


123 


CAPTAIN    SALOMON    BRAZEN- 
HEAD'S    TALE 


CAPTAIN    SALOMON    BRAZEN- 
HEAD'S    TALE 

T^THEN  the  company  had  betaken  themselves 
to  the  shady  roads  which  lead  out  of 
Waverley,  had  wound  about  Crooksbury  and  about, 
and  were  in  the  lane  which  turns  in  and  out  of 
tillage  to  reach  Saint  Catherine's  Chapel,  the 
Prioress  of  Ambresbury  turned  to  Captain  Brazen- 
head  who  rode  near  by,  and  said,  *  Mindful  of  our 
conversation  this  morning,  sir,  I  call  upon  you  to 
tell  us  a  tale.  I  hope  it  may  occur  to  you  to  make 
a  text  of  that  discourse.' 

*  It  had  already  occurred  to  me,  madam,'  replied 
the  Captain,  seldom  at  a  loss  where  women  were 
concerned  ;  *  It  occurred  to  me  the  moment  our 
talk  was  interrupted.  From  the  stores  of  my  ex- 
perience I  shall  draw  forth  a  tragic  dish  for  your 
digestion.  And  I  hope,'  he  added  in  a  louder  tone, 
'  I  hope,  nephew  Piers,  you  will  give  heed  to  what 
I  am  about  to  relate.' 

*I  shall  obey  you,  sir,'  said  Percival,  'so  far  as 
duty  to  my  mistress  allow.* 

127 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

*A  good  lad  spoke  there,  my  lady,'  said  the 
Captain,  *  unless  I  am  very  much  mistaken.' 

*  Do  you  intend  to  tell  us  a  tale,  sir  ? '  the 
Scrivener  asked,  edging  up  his  animal. 

'  There  is  some  thought  of  it,  sir,'  replied  Captain 
Brazenhead  ;  '  Why  do  you  ask  ? '  The  Scrivener 
wetted  his  lips. 

*  I  have  just  remembered  a  little  story  more 
remarkable  than  any  we  have  had  yet,  and  much 
more  remarkable  than  any  we  are  like  to  have,'  he 
said.  *  I  suppose  it  will  be  agreeable  to  this 
company  that  I  should  relate  such  a  tale  as  that.' 

*  It  will  be  very  disagreeable  to  me,  sir,'  said  the 
Captain,  *  and  there  you  have  the  bitter  truth.' 

'  I  call  on  old  Brazenface,'  cries  Smith  the  ship- 
man,  and  for  once  the  Captain  was  glad  of  him. 
The  Prioress  agreed. 

*  We  will  certainly  hear  Captain  Brazenhead,' 
she  decided.  The  Captain  pulled  his  moustache 
towards  his  eye.     In  due  time  a  bee  settled  on  it. 

Here  follows  Captain  Brazenhead's  tale,  which 
he  called 

The  Half-Brothers. 

*  By  Cock  and  his  Father,'  said  he,  with  emphasis, 
*  but  I  will  tell  you  a  tale  which  I  had  out  of 
Italy  when  I  served  there  under  Sir  John,  him  (that 
is)  of  steel  and  whipcord  whom  the  Italians  called 

128 


CAPTAIN  SALOMON  BRAZENHEAD'S  TALE 

John  Aguto,  meaning  (I  doubt  not)  sharp  as  a 
hawk ;  which  he  was  by  name  and  nature,  I  assure 
you.' 

'  If  you  served  Sir  John  Hawkwood,  sir,'  said  the 
Scrivener,  *  then  are  your  years  at  this  day  one 
hundred  and  twenty-three.' 

*  Let  my  years  be  what  they  will,'  replied  the 
Captain,  *  my  saying  is  what  it  is.  My  tale  will 
cause  you  to  weep ;  and  why  not  ?  since  weeping 
is  the  fashion,  and  a  known  old  purge  of  black  and 
other  kinds  of  bile.  But  because  my  own  humour 
is  so,  you  shall  laugh,  I  warrant  you,  between  the 
showers.' 

*  Oh,  cut  short,  cut  short,  for  your  common 
credit's  sake ! '  cried  out  Master  Richard  Smith. 
*  Will  you  turn  hedge-priest  at  your  time  of  life  ? 
Body  of  me,  I  had  reached  "  Love  me  for  ever  "  by 
this  time.' 

'  Listen  nevertheless  to  me,'  pursued  Salomon 
Brazenhead.  '  When  I  first  went  into  Italy  there 
was  living  and  ruling  at  Castelfranco  in  the  Venetian 
March  a  stone-faced  old  smiter  whose  name  was 
Tuzio  Costanza ;  black  as  a  black  stallion  and 
headed  like  a  Roman  soldier  was  he.  He  was 
a  faithful  servant  of  the  Republic  of  Venice,  by  whom 
indeed  he  ruled  his  domains  in  peace ;  and  father 
also  of  two  sons,  one  lawfully  begotten  of  the  body 
of  his  good  lady,  and  one  got  waywardly,  as  we  say, 

129  I 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

without  leave  or  licence  of  the  Church.  But  just  as 
if,  for  once,  Nature  was  on  the  side  of  Religion,  it 
was  so,  that  the  lawful  son,  who  was  called  Matteo, 
showed  himself  whole  Costanza,  and  bore  his  title- 
deeds  upon  his  person,  being  swarthy,  black  and 
bold-looking,  a  heavy-browed,  sullen  boy,  terrible  to 
fight ;  and  that  the  love-child,  Luca  (so  they  named 
him),  favoured  the  angels,  as  being  golden-haired, 
soft  in  the  skin,  red  and  white  hke  a  miss  of 
fourteen.  Year  for  year,  so  they  stood  when  I  saw 
them  first :  sixteen  years  old  apiece,  as  loving  as 
the  Blessed  Gemini  who  cuddle  each  other  all  day 
long  on  the  holy  Zodiac,  and  all  night  are  at 
the  same  loving  play,  if  the  astrologers  are  to  be 
believed. 

*  At  this  time  Master  Tuzio  lost  his  very  excellent 
lady,  a  woman  whom  he  had  in  such  order  that  she 
had  mothered  the  motherless  Luca  as  if  he  had  been 
very  twin  with  her  Matteo ;  he  lost  her,  I  say,  of 
a  summer  colic  which  sent  her  post-haste  to  the 
churchyard ;  and  he,  making  the  best  of  it,  and 
disposed  to  use  the  rest  of  his  life  in  comfort  and 
honour,  conceived  his  first  business  to  be  the  settle- 
ment of  his  two  lads,  whose  legs  were  too  long  and 
their  appetites  for  one  thing  or  another  too  keen  for 
the  little  fee  of  Castelfranco  to  nourish.  What 
must  he  do  incontinent,  but  send  them  East  and 
West  ?     Luca,  the  pretty  boy,  had  a  ticklish  palm 

130 


CAPTAIN  SALOMON  BRAZENHEAD'S  TALE 

and  a  tongue  as  smooth  as  melting  butter.  "  Off 
with  you,  chicken,"  says  his  father,  "  to  Venice  and 
the  Prior  of  Saint  Gregory.  We  will  have  you  in 
a  frock  ;  for  those  qualities  of  yours  command  their 
price  within  the  true  fold  all  the  world  over."  But 
Matteo,  bone  of  his  bone,  heir  of  his  name,  his 
counterpart  in  face,  shape,  and  temper,  he  sends 
into  Lombardy,  to  learn  fighting  from  an  ancient  foe 
of  his,  and  very  good  friend  at  the  same  time  ; 
I  mean  old  Pierfrancesco  Visdomini,  Lord  of 
Peschiera,  standard-bearer  to  Messer  Bernab6  the 
tyrant  of  Milan. 

'  "Go,  Matt,"  says  this  stout  old  father,  "go  you, 
my  son,  and  learn  of  my  friend  Pierfrancesco  how 
best  you  may  cut  his  throat  in  after  years."  And 
oif  went  Matteo  in  great  fettle,  having  first  kissed  on 
both  cheeks  and  on  soft  red  mouth  his  half-brother 
Luca,  the  future  Archbishop.  Of  Luca,  I  say  little 
here ;  but  of  Matteo  I  tell  you  most  plainly,  that 
black-avised  young  scowler  had  a  heart  like  hidden 
fire,  and  when  he  loved,  loved  altogether  with 
a  consuming  rage.  Do  you  know  that  sacred  saying 
concerning  the  devils,  which  reads  backwards  as 
well  as  forwards,  and  so  proclaims  its  dreadful 
power :  In  Girum  Imus  Noctu  Non  Ut  Consumimur 
Igni  ?  Now,  so  it  was  with  Matteo  Costanza  :  he 
went  in  chains,  lest  (loosing  himself  to  love)  he 
should  be  devoured  in  his  own  flame. 

131 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

*  He  took  the  road  to  Peschiera,  a  place  which 
lies  on  a  tongue  of  yellow  sand  upon  the  dark  blue 
waters  of  Garda ;  and  by  means  of  letters  of  his 
father's  was  nobly  received  by  Master  Pierfrancesco, 
and  hospitably  entertained  for  two  or  three  years. 
He  learned  of  his  teacher  various  noble  old  virtues 
now  outmoded  and  unsung,  to  wit,  sobriety, 
measure,  reticence,  and  a  power  of  hitting  so  terrible 
that  you  are  very  wary  of  hitting  at  all.  He  learned 
to  prick  with  the  spear  by  being  well  pricked  himself, 
to  hew  with  broad  sword  and  stab  with  dagger  by 
the  same  good  precept.  He  could  use  a  bow,  an 
arbalest,  a  pike ;  he  grew  to  be  part  of  his  horse,  and 
to  make  his  followers  parts  of  him.  Oh,  trust  me, 
Sir  John  Hawkwood  would  never  have  said  of  him, 
"  Here  is  a  son  of  my  old  age !  "  if  these  things  had 
not  been  as  I  tell  you. 

*  All  this  he  took  of  Pierfrancesco  Visdomini, 
standard-bearer  to  Bernabo  of  Milan ;  but  he  took 
more — alack !  here  comes  my  tale  to  a  fester- 
point,  that  he  took  much  more  than  this.  Pier- 
francesco, you  must  know,  had  a  son  and  a  daughter ; 
the  son,  Pierluigi,  serving  with  the  Florentines, 
a  wolfish  young  man,  mostly  hungry  like  his  father; 
the  daughter.  Madonna  Emilia,  in  those  days  at 
home,  a  pale,  thinnish,  smiling  girl,  very  tender  and 
shrinking  and  anxious  to  please  you ;  a  moonfaced, 
sidling,    cuddling,    snoozleing,    snuggling,    coaxing, 

132 


CAPTAIN  SALOMON  BRAZENHEAD'S  TALE 

adoring,  mothering,  greensick  little  slip  of  delicacy, 
fifteen  years  old  and  no  more,  by  Cock  and  the 
Prophet  Jonah. 

'  Young  Matteo,  exercising  his  strong  body  with 
the  pricking  of  lances  and  what-not,  grew  mannish, 
and  cast  about  him  mannish  looks  at  maids  and  such 
like  cates.  Young  Emilia  thought  him  a  dog,  but 
ended  (as  is  the  way  of  her  kind)  by  reversing  the 
letters  and  finding  him  a  god.  Body  and  soul,  she 
was  then  his  to  dispose.  She  fed  upon  him,  prayed 
to  him,  lay  at  his  feet  in  the  wet  grass.  Did  he  lift 
a  finger  she  came  trembling  up ;  did  he  lift  an 
eyebrow  she  thought  her  last  hour  was  come,  and 
that  she  deserved  it  richly.  Was  he  kind,  she 
panted ;  was  he  cold,  she  shivered  as  one  naked  in 
the  wind.  In  a  word,  she  adored  mankind  in  him 
because  he  was  the  only  man  she  had  ever  seen ; 
and  he,  red-hot  lover  as  he  was,  shook  off  his  chains 
and  ate  her  up.' 

'  Out  upon  you,  sir,'  said  Sister  Guiscarda,  a  severe 
virgin  of  mature  age,  *  Out  upon  you,  sir ;  you  talk 
as  if  we  were  all  for  the  same  meal ! ' 

*  By  my  strong  soul,  you  wrong  me,  Sister,'  cried 
Captain  Brazenhead,  *  I  have  no  ill  meaning  here. 
Matteo  Costanza  was  a  youth  of  eighteen  years  old, 
the  soul  of  honour.  I  speak  of  her  spiritual  part, 
which  is  all  that  he  ever  ate,  poor  young  man.  He 
was  no  ruffian.     Far  from  that,  he  thought  of  her  as 

133 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

of  the  Mother  of  God.  But  I  proceed,  by  your 
leave.  These  pretty  two  exchanged  vows,  kisses, 
chngings,  fierce  gropings  of  heart.  He  swore  her 
his  upon  the  Cross  and  Christ,  upon  the  Sorrowful 
and  Joyful  Mysteries,  upon  Heaven  and  Hell,  and 
Death  and  Judgment.  I  believe  upon  my  immortal 
hope  that  there  never  was  a  couple  more  gloriously 
unhappy  since  lovers  first  found  delight  in  tearing 
each  other  by  the  heart-strings.  One  year  it  took 
him  to  see  her  lovely,  one  year  to  make  her  the  most 
wretched  girl  in  the  world  ;  in  the  middle  of  the 
third  year  Bernabo  of  Milan  bought  up  my  master 
Sir  John  for  a  bout  with  Venice,  and  me  (as  the  fact 
was)  in  his  pocket.  "  Go,  Matteo,"  said  Pier- 
francesco  Visdomini ;  "  my  master  Lord  Bernabo 
makes  war  upon  Venice  in  fifteen  days.  This  night 
I  kiss  you ;  but  to-morrow  I  shall  spit  in  your  face. 
This  night  you  are  my  dear  good  boy,  son  of  my  old 
friend  Tuzio ;  but  to-morrow  I  shall  see  in  you 
a  black  imp  of  that  old  rascal  Costanza,  my  abhorred 
enemy.  Go  now.  Pack  your  saddle  and  away."  There 
was  no  other  road  for  Matteo  but  that  of  Venice. 
Much  as  he  loved  his  Emilia,  he  had  no  thought  then 
to  sell  his  country,  his  father  and  his  patrimony. 
There  followed,  by  Cock,  the  most  sorrowful  leave- 
taking  of  lad  and  lass  you  ever  saw  in  all  your  days. 
What  a  straining  of  young  breasts,  what  a  kissing, 
what  a  searching  of  hot  eyes,  what  sobbing,  what 

134 


CAPTAIN  SALOMON  BRAZENHEAD^S  TALE 

horrible  silences  were  there  !  Blood  fills  these  hardy 
eyes  of  mine  at  the  thought.  As  for  you,  ladies, 
what  are  your  little  hearts  doing  at  this  moment  ? 
Jumping  like  frogs  in  the  wet,  I'll  go  bail !  They 
may  well  jump,  for  this  was  a  desperate  young 
business,  I  give  you  my  word.  He  swore  her  true  as 
steel ;  he  frightened  her  sorely ;  he  cursed  and 
kissed,  he  strained  and  forced  away.  Back  she 
came  creeping,  holding  out  her  hands,  and  her  face 
put  meek  and  sideways  :  so  all's  to  do  again.  Go 
he  must  and  did.  He  saw  his  Emilia  stand  on  the 
tower's  top,  waving  him  farewell  by  the  light  of  the 
moon.  She  fluttered  thin  and  white,  like  a  little 
flag.  He  shook  his  sword  in  her  direction,  threat  or 
greeting,  half  one  and  half  t'other.  So  he  went  to 
the  wars,  and  his  most  unhappy  star  was  kindled. 

*  He  proved  a  fighter  of  the  best.  Sir  John  took 
the  Milanese  afield  against  Venice  and  Mantua,  and 
met  their  hosts  in  the  plain  of  Legnago ;  but 
whether  it  was  the  ground,  or  the  silly  cattle  he 
had  to  lead,  or  (as  the  plain  truth  was)  that  my 
stomach  had  turned  sour  overnight  and  caused  me 
to  see  monsters  where  were  only  light-armed 
horsemen  of  Treviso  and  the  parts  adjacent — the 
fact  is  as  clear  as  In  Principio  erat  verbum,  that  the 
Milanese  were  routed  and  broken  up,  and  that  you 
might  see  young  Matteo  Costanza  ranging  the  field 
like  a  colt  in  a  green  paddock.     I  gauge  the  feelings 

135 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

of  a  father  by  a  nose  I  have  for  such  sweet  motions ; 
so  I  gauge  old  Tuzio's  feelings  to  see  so  hopeful 
a  slip  of  his  grafting.  And  I  am  glad  that  he  had 
them,  friends  all,  for  (if  you  will  believe  me)  they 
were  his  last.  Yes,  yes,  his  horse  stumbled  in  the 
last  charge  home  ;  and  it  was  his  own  troop  rode 
over  him,  and  frittered  up  his  ribs  and  his  midriff. 
Matteo  found  himself  orphaned  by  his  honest 
feudatories,  and  himself  their  mesne  lord  at  the 
same  stroke.  They  tell  me  he  sat  afield,  smoking 
hot  from  his  late  exploits,  and  on  his  knees  held 
what  remained  of  his  old  father.  From  his  man's 
work  he  came  back  to  boy's  work  ;  he  snivelled  and 
looked  pinched.  What !  But  I  honour  him  for  it. 
They  were  good  tears,  holy  tears  :  a  many  such 
have  I  shed.      By  the  Mass,  I  could  weep  now ! 

*  They  laid  the  pashed  old  fighting  hound  on 
a  tressle-bier  and  let  Matteo  take  him  home  to 
Castelfranco.  It  behoved  the  Republic,  d'ye  see,  to 
put  in  Matteo  as  soon  as  might  be,  lest  mischief 
should  come  of  it.  Nobody  who  knew  my  master.  Sir 
John,  would  suppose  him  slow  to  the  advantage  of 
an  empty  castle  and  town  on  the  March.  Off  went 
Matteo  with  his  men  and  dead  father  in  the  dark ; 
and  hard  by  Este,  in  the  passes  of  the  hills  he  was 
ambushed  and  set  upon  by  a  party  of  knights  of  the 
road,  routiers,  free  gentlemen — any  name  you  please 
for  cut-throats  ;    so  in  the  black  belly  of  the  night 

136 


CAPTAIN  SALOMON  BRAZENHEAD'S  TALE 

there  was  horrible  silent  carnage,  men  grunting, 
men  squealing,  as  they  smote  or  were  smitten,  and 
never  a  blink  of  starshine  to  lead  the  sword. 
Matteo  fought  like  one  possessed  of  devils,  and, 
breaking  his  sword  by  misadventure,  put  his  dagger 
between  his  teeth  and  went  about  with  his  hands  at 
work,  feeling  for  throats.  He  got  a  hold,  closed 
and  fell  with  his  quarry.  They  rolled  scuffling  and 
biting  in  the  dark,  but  Matteo  had  ten  strengths  in 
him,  what  with  his  old  father  and  new  lordship  ; 
he  got  his  dagger  out  and  in,  in  and  out  again ; 
a  man's  life  and  a  man's  dying  curse  into  the 
bargain. 

"'The  blight  of  God  fall  on  and  wither  you," 
said  he  who  lay  jetting  blood. 

* "  It  was  fair  fighting,"  says  surly  Matteo  ;  and 
the  other, 

*  "  You  shall  remember  my  curse." 

* "  What  name  have  you,  friend  ?  "  says  Matteo 
again. 

*  He  said,  **  Pierluigi  Visdomini  of  Peschiera," 
and  gaped,  and  so  died.  Matteo  knew  very  well 
what  he  had  done,  to  wit,  slain  the  son  of  his  old 
master,  the  brother  of  his  love. 

'  It  turned  the  world  dun-colour  for  him. 
Dreadfully  as  he  stalked  about  it  afterwards,  he  was 
most  dreadful  in  Castelfranco,  as  they  report — and 
reasonably,  for  that  Castelfranco  is  not  so  big  as  the 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

world,  and  a  sulky  fellow  in  the  larger  room  might 
be  a  Minotaur  shut  up  in  that  little  walled  town. 
Certain  it  is  that  his  mortification  had  one  issue. 
He  took  the  field  again,  and  did  so  terribly  that  all 
Italy  knew  his  name  in  a  year.  The  Meagre  Wolf 
they  called  him — II  Lupo  Magro — and  far  and  wide 
citizens  of  walled  cities  trembled  at  the  words. 
At  the  siege  of  Padua  he  broke  his  arm  under  the 
ruin  of  a  bridge,  and  so  missed  the  sack  of  the 
town  which  followed  hard  upon  his  misfortune. 
But  the  Paduans  very  well  knew  who  their  con- 
queror was,  and  brought  him  the  keys  of  their 
citadel  as  he  lay  sick  at  a  convent.  And  who  do  you 
suppose  came  to  him  kneeling  with  those  who  bore 
the  keys  ?  Who  else  but  his  half-brother,  snug 
Master  Luca,  with  his  face  of  a  holy  burning 
Seraphim  and  his  sleek  limbs  of  a  girl  ?  That  was 
the  young  man,  ladies  and  good  sirs,  upon  the  word 
of  an  untirable  soldier. 

*  This  Luca  Costanza  was  by  now  the  prettiest 
soft  rogue  of  a  friar  you  ever  saw ;  to  the  beguiling 
eye  was  superadded  the  silky  tongue.  Three  years 
had  wrought  their  magic  upon  him.  I  tell  you,  he 
were  a  bold  man  who  would  set  wife  or  daughter  on 
the  further  side  of  the  grille  over  against  him. 
Parts  he  had  for  the  trade :  he  could  sing,  he  could 
make  canzonetas  in  the  fashion  of  Lombardy  and 
of  Languedoc  ;  his  was  the  supple  brain,  and  his 

138 


CAPTAIN  SALOMON  BRAZENHEAD'S  TALE 

the  calculating  head-piece,  all  encased  in  peach- 
bloom  and  gold.  Now,  when  he  saw  his  grim 
brother  Matteo,  this  chamberer  became  dewy  with 
tears  (which  meant  very  little  to  him) ;  but  when 
Matteo  saw  him  he  sobbed  in  his  throat,  boy  once 
more,  and  **  Oh,  come,  oh,  come,  my  brother !  " 
says  he;  and  had  him  in  his  arms  in  a  trice. 
Before  you  could  count  twice  five,  there  was  Luca 
sitting  on  the  bed,  listening  to  Matteo's  words 
pouring  out  of  him  like  a  flooded  mill-dam.  What 
did  he  hear  ?  Do  you  ask  that,  my  masters  ?  Turn 
to  the  beauteous  ladies  by  side  of  you :  they  will  let 
you  know.  He  spoke  Emilia,  Emilia,  Emilia,  and 
again  Emilia,  Emilia  Visdomini.  There  was  no 
other  woman  in  the  world  for  him;  so  Luca,  for 
whom  the  world  held  many  women,  was  given  to 
understand.  Then  the  grief  was  revealed,  since 
grief  there  was.  Emilia  could  never  be  his.  "  God 
of  Love,  why  not  then  ?  "  cries  Luca  in  amaze. 

* "  I  have  slain  her  brother  in  the  dark,"  says 
Matteo,  hollow-voiced,  "  and  he  called  down  upon 
me  the  blight  of  God." 

'  "  Is  that  all  ? ''  says  Luca ;  and  Matteo, 

*  "  What  more  would  you  have  ?  " 

*  Luca  put  a  warm  hand  on  his  brother's  shoulder. 
"  For  much  less  than  that,"  says  he,  "  have  maidens 
been  unmaidened." 

*  "  How  now  ?  "  says  Matteo. 

139 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

"'Why,  thus,"  his  brother  reph'ed.  "The  old 
Visdomini  will  take  it  amiss,  I  suppose  ?  " 

'  "  Alack !  "  says  Matteo. 

* "  By  no  means,"  quoth  Luca.  **  You  offer 
Castelfranco  and  your  hand  for  the  girl.  He  cries 
for  a  sword  and  shuts  her  in  her  chamber.  What 
shall  she  feed  on  in  there,  do  you  think,  if  not 
your  image  ?  She  will  grow  fat  on  that.  So  women 
nourish  their  hearts.  And  so  fathers  drive  their 
girls  into  their  enemies'  arms.  Leave  it  all  to  me, 
Mat,"  says  this  Luca.      Matteo  kissed  him. 

'Thus  it  was  accorded  between  them,  that  Luca 
should  go  to  ask  the  hand  of  Miss  for  his  brother 
Matthaeus,  Dominus  de  Castelfranco.  And  he  was 
to  tell  the  whole  truth. — How  the  said  Matthceus 
by  misadventure  had  killed  Pierluigi  Visdomini  in 
dark  battle,  midnight  battle,  having  been  attacked 
by  the  dead  man  as  he  was  bearing  his  own  father's 
body  to  the  burying.  This  notwithstanding,  the 
said  Matthaeus  did  earnestly  pretend  for  the  hand 
of  Donna  Emilia,  and  without  a  dower.  The 
Visdomini  were  bare  to  the  bones  of  money  and 
lands ;  the  dowry-quittance  should  tempt  them, 
Luca  judged :  not  so  Matteo.  But  Matteo,  in  truth, 
did  so  urgently  long  for  sight  or  touch  of  his  little 
Emilia  that  he  sent  his  brother  against  his  own 
hopes — that  thus,  at  second-hand,  he  himself  might 
seem  to  deal  with  her.     "  Take  her,  dear  Luca,  this 

140 


CAPTAIN  SALOMON  BRAZENHEAD'S  TALE 

ring,"  said  the   honest   lover,   "  and   give   her   one 
message  from  me  ;  one  and  no  more." 

"'And  what  is  your  message,  brother?"  says 
Luca  the  debonair. 

* "  Tell  her  the  ring  is  from  the  True  to  the  Most 
True,"  says  Matteo ;  and  Luca  puts  his  tongue  into 
his  cheek. 

'  Off  he  set,  howsoever,  flushed  with  safe-conducts 
and  other  letters  commendatory  from  the  Venetian 
power.  Arrived  at  Peschiera,  he  found  old  Pier- 
francesco,  he  found  his  bony  wife  ;  but  he  found  no 
fresh  Emilia  at  all.  She  was  not  there  ;  he  learned 
from  the  women  that  she  had  taken  service  with 
Madonna  Buonconforta,  wife  to  Bernabo  of  Milan. 
**  So  ho !  "  says  this  Luca  to  himself,  "  Milan 
will  suit  me  very  well.  It  is  a  great  city,  and 
Messer  Bernabo  a  munificent  master  for  a  baseborn 
lad  of  parts.  I  will  go  to  Milan."  But  first 
he  boards  Master  Pierfrancesco  with  his  tidings  of 
death  in  battle  and  offers  of  marriage  without 
a  dowry.  Pierfrancesco  listens  to  what  he  has  to 
say,  and  listens  to  the  end  ;  then  he  ups  and  shows 
Luca  a  long  sword.  "  Do  you  see  this.  Master 
Friar  ?  "  he  says.     "  Certainly  I  do,"  says  Luca. 

'  "  I  would  spit  their  two  hearts  on  this  blade," 
says  the  old  man,  biting  his  words,  "  and  see  them 
roast  at  my  kitchen  fires,  before  I  allowed  a 
Visdomini  to  meet  a  Costanza  unarmed.     Now,  go 

141 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

to  your  master  the  devil."  What  about  this,  sirs 
and  noble  ladies  ?  Did  he  give  the  forward  cut  ? 
There  is  none  more  forward,  by  Cock.  Where  goes 
our  Luca  but  to  Milan  with  all  his  letters  com- 
mendatory in  his  vest  ?  There  he  wormed  his  way 
in,  there  he  saw,  and  there  had  speech  with  the 
young  Emilia,  grown  to  be  a  beauty  of  so  willowy, 
so  slow-smiling,  so  enslaving  a  kind  that,  if  he 
played  a  villainy  upon  his  brother,  I  know  not  who 
is  to  be  blamed.  As  to  that,  wait  for  a  little.  He 
had  his  own  game  to  play  first,  and  very  well  he 
played  it.  I  knew  Messer  Bernabo  Visconti  well 
enough,  a  puissant  and  glittering  lord,  who  thought 
like  lightning  and  burned  up  all  Lombardy  before 
he  had  done  with  it.  He  was  born  a  soldier  and 
lived  a  tyrant,  and  died  a  victim  to  his  own 
pleasures.  Very  passably  indeed  he  liked  handsome 
youths  and  handsome  women.  So  he  fancied 
Donna  Emilia,  stroked  her,  called  her  his  Madon- 
netta;  and  so  he  fancied  the  beauteous  Luca 
Costanza  and  made  him  prime  favourite  in  the  great 
Court  of  Milan — the  greatest  Court,  but  one,  these 
experienced  eyes  of  mine  have  ever  looked  upon, 
and  contemned.  In  a  few  months  Luca  Costanza 
had  Milan  under  his  thumb ;  and  then,  waxing  fat, 
as  the  way  is,  he  began  to  kick,  having  scriptural 
precedent,  I  believe.  In  this  wanton  humour  he 
looked  upon  Emilia  with  favour,  with  a   half-shut 

142 


CAPTAIN  SALOMON  BRAZENHEAD'S  TALE 

eye  (as  it  were) ;  and  she  looked  upon  him  as  on 
one  with  whom  she  must  reckon  if  she  was  to  better 
herself  in  the  Court.  Presently,  after  a  little,  Luca 
gets  her  alone,  whips  out  the  ring  he  had  in  charge, 
and — "  Yours,  Madonna,"  he  says.  "  Why,"  says 
she,  "  Who  gives  me  a  ring  ?  " 

*  **  One  who  calls  himself  The  True,"  says  Luca, 
with  a  half  sigh. 

'  She  blushed  to  hear  him,  thinking  he  so  styled 
himself;  and  then  says  she,  "But  what  has  The 
True  to  say  to  me  ?  " 

'"Oh,  pretty  rogue,"  says  Luca  to  himself, 
"  mighty  little,  I  fancy."  But  aloud  he  said,  "  The 
True  sends  the  ring  to  The  Most  True,"  and 
watched  her  like  a  cat.  She  went  all  white  to  the 
lips,  and  her  eyes  darted  at  him,  and  about  him,  and 
away.  "  Matteo  sent  it,"  she  says  in  a  whisper. 
"  That  is  his  name,"  says  Luca.  "  And  what  is 
Matteo  to  you,  good  Friar  ?  "  she  asks  him.  "  Oh, 
an  acquaintance  of  mine  of  old  standing,"  says 
Master  Luca.  "  He  slew  unwittingly  your  brother 
Pierluigi,  and  your  father  says  that  both  you  and  he 
shall  die  before  you  meet  each  other  again.  But, 
notwithstanding,  Matteo  sends  you  this  ring."  And 
then  he  set  a  watch  upon  her,  and  saw  her  shiver 
and  shake,  and  wring  her  pretty  hands. 

'  By  this  conduct  she  betrayed  him  her  mind. 
Not  Matteo  she  loved,  but  a  dim  figure  of  Matteo 

143 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

four  years  dead.  Not  Matteo  she  loved ;  but  she 
feared  him.  The  very  first  thing  she  said,  with 
great  haunted  eyes  and  mouth  woe-begone,  was  this 
— "  Will  he  come  to  fetch  me,  do  you  think  ?  " 
"  Like  enough,"  says  Luca,  shortly,  and  she  began 
to  cry  and  rock  herself  about.  I  assure  you, 
a  handsome  girl  looks  well  in  this  situation.  Grief 
relaxes  her,  she  is  melting,  ready  for  the  moulding 
hand ;  but  you  know  that  as  well  as  I  do.  I  cannot 
blame  Luca  for  doing  as  he  did ;  it  were  monstrous 
that  women  should  weep  and  not  be  comforted ; 
and  how  comfort  her  against  what  she  fears  but  by 
telling  her  to  have  no  fear,  for  that  which  she  fears 
will  not  come  to  pass  ?  So  Luca  did ;  and  every 
day  she  sought  him  out  with  fears,  and  every  day  he 
showed  her  how  no  fear  should  be.  Or  if  she  went 
not  to  him  he  must  needs  go  to  her,  and  whether 
she  feared  or  not,  beseech  her  not  to  fear.  They 
used  to  meet  in  a  little  church  I  know  very  well ; 
Sant'  Onofrio  it  is  called.  There  in  the  dusk  those 
two  comforted  each  other,  and  there  or  elsewhere 
Luca  betrayed  his  brother  and  gave  Emilia  a  living 
image  instead  of  a  dead  one  to  enshrine  in  her 
heart.  All  this  was  a  matter  of  six  months,  which 
time  had  sufficed  Matteo  Costanza  to  take  the  field 
again,  and  drive  the  Milanese  out  of  the  Venetian 
March. 

*  As    an  end   of  such   exploits   on   his   part,   my 

144 


CAPTAIN  SALOMON  BRAZENHEAD'S  TALE 

master  Sir  John  Hawkwood  came  home  to  Milan 
and  saw  the  Lord  Bernabo  every  day.  "  My  lord," 
said  he,  "  you  shall  not  blame  me  that  affairs  have 
gone  counter.  I  and  my  company  have  done  our 
best,  but  I  cannot  drive  sheep  without  a  dog.  Now, 
your  Milanese  are  sheep,  my  lord,  and  the  dog  is 
kennelled  in  Venice ;  at  Castelfranco  you  shall  find 
him." 

*  '*  I  will  buy  this  Venetian  dog  for  you,  John," 
says  Bernabo,  "  if  you  will  fetch  him  home." 

'  "  That  I  can  do,  my  lord,"  says  Sir  John. 

*  "  As  how  ?  "  asks  Lord  Bernabo. 

' "  Report  has  it,"  said  Sir  John,  my  master, 
"  that  the  young  wolf  Costanza  has  set  his  heart 
upon  a  lamb  of  your  fold.  You  must  throw  him  a 
sop  if  you  want  him." 

"'Where  is  the  lamb?  Where  is  the  sop?" 
cries  Lord  Bernabo. 

*  Sir  John  told  him  that  Donna  Emilia  was  the 
price.  "  And  a  good  price  too,"  says  Bernabo,  who 
had  fancied  her  himself — in  all  honour,  mind  you. 
However,  he  agreed  with  my  master,  because 
necessity  was  outside  the  door. 

'  Now,  the  term  of  this  was  set,  that  Sir  John 
should  win  over  Matteo  Costanza  by  means  of 
Donna  Emilia.  Well  and  good.  There  was  a  truce 
of  forty  days  declared,  in  which  time  my  master 
sought  out  his  man  and  opened  the  matter.     "  By 

M5  K 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

God,  I  will  say  nothing  to  it,"  said  Matteo.  "  I 
will  have  her  with  clean  hands,"  says  he.  "  What 
might  that  mean  ?  "  asked  him  Sir  John.  "  Why," 
says  Matteo,  **  I  have  slain  her  brother  in  a  fair 
fight,  and  I  fear  that  her  father  may  take  it  amiss. 
Now  I  will  either  have  her  from  him  by  arms, 
or  from  his  open  hands — one  or  the  other  ;  but  not 
by  purchase  from  that  thief  of  Milan,  your  master." 
* "  Well,"  said  Sir  John,  "  if  I  cannot  move 
you " 

*  "  You  might  as  easily  move  Monte  Rosa,"  says 
Matteo  Costanza.  What !  But  a  fine  young  man, 
I  call  him. 

*  My  master.  Sir  John,  rode  away  from  Castel- 
franco  all  in  a  pother ;  but  he  must  needs  report  to 
my  lord  Bernabo  how  he  had  sped.  "  A  proud  cock 
indeed!"  quoth  Bernabo.  "Let  me  have  speech 
with  my  friend  Visdomini."  Now,  old  Visdomini, 
much  as  he  loved  his  blood,  loved  his  country  more. 
"  Milan  has  had  my  life  in  her  hand  long  enough, 
and  my  father's  life,  and  my  son's.  My  lord,  you 
shall  have  my  daughter's  since  you  need  it.  Give 
her  to  young  Costanza,  if  it  must  be;  but  let  Milan 
prevail,  Amen  !  "  So  he  said,  and  Bernabo  Visconti 
departed  very  well  pleased. 

*  Thus  they  won  over  Matteo  Costanza  to  sell  his 
nation  and  his  master  for  the  sake  of  a  girl's  meek 
smile.     But  there  was  mighty  little  smiling  in  the 

146 


CAPTAIN  SALOMON  BRAZENHEAD'S  TALE 

Church  of  Sant'  Onofrio,  I  promise  you,  when 
Emilia  went  to  be  comforted,  and  Luca  Costanza  to 
give  comfort. 

'  By  this  time  Donna  Emilia  needed  more  comfort 
than  Luca  had  to  spare,  who  wanted  a  deal  himself. 
"  Here  is  my  brother  coming  for  his  wife,"  thought 
he,  "  to  find  her  as  good  as  wife  already,  and  better 
than  many  wives  are.  Lord  my  Saviour,  what  shall 
I  do  ?  "  The  truth  was  that  Matteo,  when  he  came, 
must  find  her  the  mother  of  a  boy. 

'  There  was  no  getting  out  of  that ;  and  here  you 
see  the  pretty  quandary  in  which  our  Luca  saw 
himself.  The  girl  was  his  altogether  at  that  season, 
adoring  in  him  the  father  of  her  child.  By  that 
only  she  was  strong  to  face  Matteo  himself,  whose 
image,  much  as  she  feared  it  by  habit,  was  now 
grown  blurred  and  faint,  washed  out  (maybe)  by 
Luca's  love  balsams.  So  when  she  heard  of  what 
had  been  devised,  how  Matteo  was  to  come  in  and 
help  Milan,  how  his  price  was  herself,  and  the  seller 
her  father — she  laughed  comfortably,  and  put  up  her 
face  for  Luca  to  kiss  it.  "  Too  late,  too  late,  this 
poor  Matteo!"  she  said;  and  "Too  late  indeed," 
said  Luca.  But  he  kissed  her  face,  turning  over  in 
his  mind  how  he  could  get  out  of  the  quag  in  which 
he  was  stuck.  "  What  shall  you  say  to  your  father, 
chuck  ?  "  asks  he ;  and  she  says  that  she  will  excuse 
herself  from  this  marriage.      *'  Never  do  that,    my 

147 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

soul !  "  cries  Master  Luca  ;  "  but  agree,  agree ;  and 
leave  me  to  find  a  way  out."  She  laughed.  "  You 
little  know  Matteo  Costanza,"  she  says,  "if  you 
think  him  satisfied  with  agreement."  "  Let  me  deal 
with  him,  for  all  that,"  says  Luca. 

' "  No,  no,  my  King-Cupid,"  cries  she.  **  He  is 
a  good  knight.  I  will  tell  him  the  truth  and  ask  his 
pardon.     That  is  the  way  of  honour." 

*  "  It  is  the  way  of  death,  Emilia,"  says  Luca,  very 
white. 

' "  Fear  not  for  me,  dear  love,"  says  Emilia. 
' "  I  do  not,"  says  Luca,  "  but  by  my  soul,  I  fear 
for  myself." 

*  She  looked  strangely  at  him,  not  perceiving  all  his 
drift.  "  Heaven  and  earth  !  "  says  she — and  no 
more.  Then  Luca  told  her,  what  she  had  never 
known  before,  that  Matteo  was  his  brother  of  the 
half-blood ;  and  she  reeled  where  she  stood.  He 
went  on  to  use  those  wits  which  he  had  in  abundance, 
and  those  welling  founts  of  tears.  He  knelt,  he 
clasped,  he  humbled  himself,  dropping  tears  like 
thunder  showers  all  the  time.  He  was  (said  he) 
a  villain,  a  black  thief,  a  white  thief,  a  Judas, 
a  Pontius  Pilate,  a  miserable,  aching,  groaning, 
longing  lover.  He  was  a  father  who  could  never 
look  his  child  in  the  face,  he  was  a  lover  whose 
mistress  would  bid  him  to  death — and  God  knew, 
he  said,  how  willingly  he  would  go  to  death  for  her 

148 


CAPTAIN  SALOMON  BRAZENHEAD'S  TALE 

sake :  but  I  say  that  God  knew  nothing  cf  the  sort. 
In  truth,  he  threw  himself  so  far  below  her  that 
Emilia,  who  had  a  soft  heart,  was  closely  touched, 
and  spent  herself  to  raise  him  up  again,  if  it  might 
be  only  a  part  of  the  way.  She  could  not  find  it  in 
her  heart  to  condemn  a  man  who  had  done  all  these 
villainies  for  the  sake  of  her  love.  A  coward  she 
knew  him,  but  he  loved  her ;  a  coward  he  was,  but 
she  loved  him.  What  she  agreed  to  do  was  this,  in 
the  end.  She  would  confess  to  Matteo  the  bitter 
truth,  but  would  cast  no  paternity  on  Luca.  Luca 
swore  her,  with  a  hand  on  the  five  crosses  on  the 
altar-slab,  one  touched  after  another;  and  had  to 
be  content  with  that.  So  they  waited,  miserable 
sinners  that  they  were,  with  love  turned  sour  in 
their  mouths ;  and  the  child  was  born  before  ever 
Matteo  came  to  Milan. 

*  He  came  in  his  time,  and  rode  in  by  the  Gate  of 
the  Sun,  like  a  young  Roman  Consul  come  to  view 
his  province.  Messer  Bernabo  with  his  brothers 
and  his  base  brother,  met  him  at  the  Castle ;  they 
made  as  much  of  him  as  he  would  allow,  but  this 
was  very  little  :  Matteo  had  a  short  way.  He  signed 
the  treaties,  he  sold  himself  with  few  words  spoken; 
then  says  he,  turning  curtly  on  Messer  Bernabo, 
"  Let  me  see  Pierfrancesco  Visdomini  and  Madonna 
Emilia."  This  was  done.  When  he  saw  old 
Pierfrancesco  he  knelt  down  on  the  flags  and  kissed 

149 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

his  foot,  the  first  time  in  his  Hfe  he  had  condescended 
to  any  but  his  Saviour,  you  may  well  believe.  "  Get 
up,  Costanza,"  says  Visdomini.  "  Not  so,  sir," 
he  replies,  "  till  I  have  your  forgiveness."  Old 
Visdomini  sat  down.  **  Tell  me  the  truth  from  the 
beginning,"  he  says,  "  and  I  shall  believe  you." 
Kneeling  where  he  was  Matteo  tells  him  the  tale. 
At  the  end  Pierfrancesco  freely  forgives  him  and 
bestows,  with  an  open  heart,  his  daughter  upon  the 
slayer  of  his  son.  "  Now,"  says  Matteo,  leaping  to 
his  feet,  "let  me  have  the  price  of  my  renunciation." 
They  take  him  in  to  Emilia  ;  and  whether  she  held 
her  mad  heart  or  not,  whether  her  lips  were  grey, 
whether  there  was  panic-fear  alight  in  her  blank 
eyes,  whether  she  was  cold-footed,  hot-headed,  dizzy 
and  sick  to  death — I  leave  you  to  judge. 

*  "  My  love,  my  love,  I  have  come ! "  he  says 
gulping. 

'  "  Alas,"  sa3'S  she  in  a  whisper. 

*  **  I  see  my  glorious  Saint !  "  he  cries. 

*  She  says,  "  You  see  ruin,"  and  fell  to  his  feet,  and 
held  to  them  fast. 

*  This  he  could  not  allow,  so  stooped  to  raise  her. 
Together  they  tussled  on  the  floor,  she  to  stay  where 
she  was,  he  to  lift  her  up.  So  as  they  strove 
together  he  felt  a  new  master  and  she  a  new,  more 
dreadful  fear.  Up  she  got  and  fled  to  the  wall ;  he 
followed  after,  lowering  and  angry  by  now. 

150 


CAPTAIN  SALOMON  BRAZENHEAD'S  TALE 


t  tt 


"What  does   this   mean,   my   love?"    says   he, 
panting. 

'"O  misery,  misery,  my  ruin!"  says  she.  He 
knew  it  all  by  now,  and  she  saw  him  blind  and 
possessed,  fumbling  for  his  dagger.  She  runs  to 
him  with  her  vest  pulled  open,  her  white  bosom  bare. 
"  Kill,  kill,  kill ! "  she  cried,  and  awaits  the  red 
harvest.  But  Matteo  covered  his  eyes.  "  O  God, 
a  mother's  breast !  "  he  said,  and  shuddered  like 
a  man  in  a  fever.  The  holiness  of  her  estate  saved 
her  for  worse  things.  Matteo  was  till  then  an 
honest  man.  But  here  is  a  sorrowful  pass  for 
a  young  lover,  whose  only  fault  was  the  vehemence 
of  his  love. 

*  Now,  this  poor  Emilia,  also,  so  far  as  she  could 
be,  was  an  honest  woman.  When  she  saw  that 
Matteo  meant  murder  still,  though  not  of  her,  no 
fury  or  grim  silence  of  his  could  drag  out  of  her  the 
name  of  her  undoer.  Her  spirit  was  as  great  by  now 
as  is  that  of  any  mothering  thing  in  the  world.  Set 
dogs  to  worry  a  lambing  ewe,  or  a  littering  cat,  or 
a  broody  bird  :  the  piety  of  the  blessed  creature 
outvails  the  lust  of  the  foe.  So  here.  Emiha, 
a  double  mother,  defended  her  babe,  and  her  babe's 
father.  Matteo  left  her  with  these  words— "  You 
are  mine.  I  have  bought  you  with  the  price  of 
treachery.  I  will  never  let  you  go.  This  is  your 
punishment   and  mine,  that  I   shall  see  you  every 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

hour  of  the  day  and  know  myself  fool  and  knave, 
and  you  shall  see  me,  and  read  in  my  face  what 
indeed  you  are.     Stay  you  here  till  I  come  for  you." 

*  He  went  out  to  seek  his  twittering  brother,  and 
when  he  found  him  the  strong  sluices  wherewith  he 
had  dammed  up  his  sorrow  were  cast  down,  and 
the  floods  leaped  out.  Matteo  fell  weeping  upon 
Luca's  neck,  and  so  remained  long  time.  But 
Luca  could  have  laughed  and  chirped  for  thankful- 
ness. 

*  "  Oh,  brother,"  says  Matteo,  with  terrible  sobs 
which  shook  him  to  pieces,  "  Oh,  brother,  could  you 
not  have  saved  her  for  me  ?  ' 

* "  Alas,"  says  Master  Luca,  "  I  should  have 
saved  her  if  I  could." 

* "  I  know  it  well,"  says  Matteo,  "  but  not  even 
a  brother's  love  can  keep  wretched  women  from 
folly  and  sin." 

'  "  That  is  so  indeed,  brother,"  says  Luca,  very 
demure.     Then  Matteo's  eyes  began  to  burn. 

* "  I  conjure  you,  Luca,  by  our  father's  good 
name,  tell  me  who  was  the  thief  of  my  honour,"  he 
says ;  and  Luca  fenced  with  him. 

* "  I  know  not  indeed,  I  know  not  indeed,"  says 
he.     Matteo  looked  at  him. 

'"Where  have  your  eyes  been,  brother,  all  this 
while  ? "  he  asks  him.  Luca  began  to  stammer, 
confused. 

152 


CAPTAIN  SALOMON  BRAZENHEAD'S  TALE 

*  "  I  see,"  says  Matteo,  "  that  you  do  know  his 
name,  but  will  not  tell  it.  I  think  you  may  have 
a  reason  for  that.  I  think  so  indeed."  It  was  not 
that  he  began  to  sniff  at  his  brother's  real  offence ; 
but  it  was  so  that  Luca  thought  he  had.  That 
gave  him  a  rare  fright. 

* "  Oh,  Matteo,"  he  said  quaking,  "  this  is  a  wicked 
Court,  where  the  greatest  in  authority  find  the 
greatest  scope  for  sin." 

* "  Proceed,"  said  Matteo. 

* "  Alack,"  cried  Luca,  "  must  I  bear  witness 
against  my  neighbour  ?  " 

'  "  There  is  no  reason  against  it,"  says  Matteo, 
stern  as  death.  "  The  Scripture  saith,  Thou  shalt 
not  bear  false  witness.  Look  to  it  that  you  do 
not." 

* "  I  dare  not  do  it,  I  dare  not  speak — I  fear  the 
power  of  Milan  !  "  So  said  Luca  in  a  sweat  of  fear. 
He  saw  murder  in  Matteo's  bright  eyes. 

* "  Fear  nothing,  Luca,"  says  Matteo,  with  his 
dagger  free,  "  fear  nothing,  Luca,  but  God  and  me." 
Luca  caught  his  breath.  "  So,"  says  Matteo,  "you 
will  not  ?  Then  prepare  yourself."  Luca  sees  the 
bare  knife  and  shrieks  for  fear.  He  falls  on  his 
knees — "  Mercy,  have  mercy,  Matteo  !  "  he  whines. 
"  I  will  tell  thee  what  to  do." 

'  "  Tell,  then,"  says  Matteo. 

* "  Go,  ask  in   Milan  whether  the  Lord  of  Milan 

^53 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

loved  not  his  wife's  maid.  Ask  what  he  gave, 
and  what  called  her."  Matteo  went  out  to  ask. 
Now,  it  was  true  enough,  as  I  have  told  you,  that 
Messer  Bernabo  had  fancied  Donna  Emilia ;  also 
that  he  had  given  her  a  belt  of  gold  and  enamel  of 
Limoges,  and  called  her,  because  of  her  meek 
beauty.  La  Madonnetta,  which  means  Lady-kin. 

*  All  this  Matteo  gathered  in  Milan  as  easily  as 
boys  get  nuts  in  October.  He  read  it  ten  times 
worse  than  it  was,  because  of  his  own  inflammation  ; 
he  read  all  the  shameful  fact  into  Messer  Bernabo's 
heart  which,  as  you  know,  lay  nearer  home.  Mon- 
strously he  did,  like  a  madman ;  for  by  this  time 
he  was  both  mad  and  a  monster.  Emilia  he  took 
and  Emilia's  child,  and  sent  them  with  Luca  out 
of  Milan  under  escort  to  Castelfranco.  He  himself, 
then,  with  certain  hired  assassins  of  his  choosing, 
attacked  Messer  Bernabo  at  the  coming  out  of 
church  one  morning  and  stabbed  him  deep  between 
the  shoulders.  Three  times  he  stabbed :  "  This 
for  Emilia  ;  this  for  Venice ;  this  for  Costanza !  " 
were  his  words  as  each  time  the  knife  went  to  work. 
He  just  failed  of  killing  his  man  ;  but  did  fail,  and 
so  drew  down  all  the  enmity  of  Venice,  which  might 
else  have  pardoned  his  first  treachery  for  the  sake  of 
his  second.  In  the  frenzy  that  followed  he  hacked 
a  way  for  himself  out  of  Milan,  and  gained  the  open 
country.     They  pursued  him,  but  he  had  their  heels 

154 


CAPTAIN  SALOMON  BRAZENHEAD'S  TALE 

and  gained  his  walled  town.  There  he  had  space  to 
breathe  for  a  little,  but  not  very  much. 

*  I  think  he  knew  that  his  hour  was  at  hand  :  it 
had  been  odd  if  he  did  not.  All  Italy  was  his 
enemy,  within  doors  and  without.  The  Milanese 
hated  him  because  he  had  stabbed  their  tyrant,  the 
Venetians  because  he  had  stabbed  not  deep  enough. 
This  brought  Venice  and  Milan  together  ;  wise  men 
make  profit  out  of  the  vagaries  of  fools.  Luca 
hated  him  because  he  feared  him,  and  Emilia  hated 
Luca.  Within  that  strong  house  of  Castelfranco 
all  sat  hushed  in  their  hatred  and  fear  of  one 
another  under  the  shadow  of  Death's  wings.  They 
tell  me — those  who  escaped — that  from  dawn  to 
dusk,  day  after  day,  no  soul  spoke  a  word  to 
another,  though  they  lived  in  the  common  hall  and 
ate  at  the  common  table.  Whether  Matteo  had  by 
now  suspicion  of  Luca,  I  cannot  tell  you.  If  he  had 
none,  why  did  he  never  speak  with  him  ?  He  let 
none  be  seen  at  any  rate ;  but  Luca  eyed  him 
about  wherever  he  went,  dreading  a  knife  in 
the  back ;  and  as  for  Emilia,  she  would  not 
suffer  either  brother  near  the  child.  I  suppose 
Matteo  must  have  guessed  fire  from  this  kind  of 
smoke. 

'  Now  here  I  make  an  end  of  my  tale,  and  in  this 
manner.  The  Venetian  Admiral  led  a  great  force 
up  against  Castelfranco  and  besieged  it  so  close  that 

155 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

soon  there  was  nothing  to  eat.  That  silent  company 
of  wretches,  on  a  day,  sat  down  to  their  board  with 
never  a  crumb  of  food  upon  it.  All  the  noise  in  the 
house  was  of  Emilia's  child  wailing  for  milk,  which 
she  could  not  give  him,  yet  dared  not  ask  of  Matteo. 
Nor  could  she  pray  him  by  ancient  love  that  the 
siege  might  end  ;  but  Heaven's  love  is  more  ancient 
than  all,  and  by  Heaven's  mercy  it  did  end.  Venice 
and  Milan  accorded  ;  so  in  the  trenches  about  the 
walls  stalked  Messer  Bernabo  Visconti  and  the 
Duke  of  Venice,  with  my  master  Sir  John  for  their 
common  friend. 

'  One  night  we  mined  the  eastern  gate  and  got 
in  under  cover  of  dark.  There  was  fighting  in  the 
streets,  one  or  two  houses  fired ;  the  fire  caught, 
and  ringed  the  citadel  with  flame.  Soon  we  got  the 
doors  of  that  stronghold  down,  and  broke  through, 
Messer  Bernabo,  the  Venetian  Admiral,  Sir  John 
Hawkwood  and  your  servant,  with  others.  By  the 
light  of  the  fires  without  we  sa^  our  man  at  bay  in 
his  hall.  He  had  the  tressle-tables  thrown  up  like 
breast-works,  himself  behind  ;  and  behind  him  again 
Emilia  white  as  a  ghost,  her  child  in  her  arms,  and 
Luca  the  friar,  rigid  with  the  sickness  of  awful  fear. 
We  who  came  in  stopped  at  the  barriers  to  see 
what  were  best  to  do  ;  for  we  wished  no  violence 
to  the  poor  girl,  nor  had  any  grudge  (so  far  as  we 
knew)  against  the  friar. 

156 


CAPTAIN  SALOxMON  BRAZENHEAD'S  TALE 


<  (< 


Are     you     come,     Lord    Bernab6,    for    your 
minion?"  says  Matteo,  grim  and  cold. 

*  **  I  am  come,  master,  for  you,"  says  my  lord. 

* "  Me  you  shall  have  in  good  time,"  says  Matteo 
again,  "and  make  your  pleasure  of  my  carcase. 
But  if  you  want  her  whom  you  have  made  shameful, 
you  shall  come  and  fetch  her." 

*  "  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  your  wife,  fellow," 
says  my  lord. 

**  *  She  is  not  my  wife,  dog,  thanks  to  you  !  " 
Matteo  thundered,  and  turned  to  the  girl. 
**  Emilia,"  says  he,  "  art  thou  mine  or  his  ?  Art 
thou  mine  or  another's  ?  "  Her  lips  moved,  but 
not  her  eyes. 

' "  Thine,  O  Matteo,"  she  said  in  a  voice  like  the 
wind  in  dry  reeds. 

'  "  Mine  to  dispose  ?  "  says  he. 

*  "  Yea,"  says  she.  He  laughed  aloud — but 
dreadfully. 

*  "Thus  then  I  dispose  of  mine  own  thing.  Look 
you,  Bernabo,"  he  said,  and  stabbed  her  deep  in  the 
heart. 

'  We  all  fell  back  at  the  horrid  deed  :  we  who  had 
seen  so  many,  and  done  them  too,  by  my  soul !  So 
then  the  frantic  wretch  snatches  up  the  child  and 
takes  a  step  forward. 

' "  I  have  used  my  way  with  my  own,"  says  he. 
*'  Now,  Bernabo,  use  yours  with  what  is  yours  " — 

157 


NEW   CANTERBURY  TALES 

and  he  would  have  thrown  the  child  over  the  tables 
to  my  lord.  But  Luca  Costanza  shrieked  and  made 
to  take  it  from  him,  and  Messer  Bernabo  gave 
a  great  horse-laugh.  Matteo  saw  the  whole  truth 
at  last,  and  turning  madly,  cut  his  brother  down. 
Luca  fell  without  a  sound  and  lay  still ;  we  leaped 
the  tables.  Matteo  died  fighting  like  a  beast 
embayed  :  twenty  wounds  were  found  in  the  front  of 
his  body,  all  of  my  own  counting,  and  some  few  of 
my  own  dealing,  if  the  truth  is  to  be  told  in  this 
company. 

*  So  died,  good  friends,  the  right  line  of  this 
honourable  fighting  house  of  Costanza,  doomed  (as 
it  seems)  from  the  beginning.  So  also  died  that 
other  house,  which  loved  or  hated  Costanza  as  war 
or  peace  was  abroad.  For  Costanza  had  slain  both 
Visdomini's  children,  and  Visdomini's  children  had 
cursed  Costanza.  Here  you  have  a  circle  of  mis- 
fortune ;  and  whose  the  beginning  or  whose  the 
first  fault,  let  prophets  and  philosophers  determine. 
This  I  know,  that  if  the  right  line  of  Costanza  died 
out,  the  left  line  held  on.  The  child  of  Luca 
Costanza  and  Emilia  Visdomini  was  put  in  posses- 
sion of  the  fief,  and  grew  to  live  and  flourish  and 
fight  battles  for  Venice.  And  for  all  I  know  against 
it  he  lives  and  fights  them  to  this  hour. 

'That  is  the  talc,'  said  Captain  Brazenhead, 
*  which  1  singled  out  in  Italy,  when  I   served  there 

158 


CAPTAIN  SALOMON  BRAZENHEAD'S  TALE 

under  Sir  John  Hawkwood,  that  tailor's  boy  who 
became  a  great  captain.     Go  to,  I  make  an  end.' 

'  By  the  Lord,  sir,'  said  Master  Richard  Smith, 
*  I  am  not  sorry  for  it.' 

But  no  one  else  said  anything  at  all.  Musingly, 
each  occupied  with  his  own  cares,  they  climbed  the 
hill  into  Reigate. 


^59 


THE   PRIORESS   OF 
AMBRESBURY'S   TALE 


THE   PRIORESS   OF 
AMBRESBURY'S   TALE 

'T^HE  departure  of  Captain  Brazenhead — for  at 
Reigate  he  took  up  a  more  desperate  enter- 
prise than  pilgrimage,  and  sought  rather  the  crown 
of  a  king  than  that  of  martyrdom,  and  Lord  Say's 
head  before  Saint  Thomas's — the  Captain's  defec- 
tion, I  say,  lost  Percival  his  protector  and  caused 
Percival  to  lie. 

That  is  a  fair  retort  to  make,  that  he  having  lied 
so  much  already,  another  was  Httle  odds.  Yet  the 
difficulty  of  lying  is,  not  to  lie,  but  to  be  believed 
when  you  do  He.  And  how  account  comfortably 
for  the  absence  of  Captain  Brazenhead  when  that 
warrior  had  gone  to  raise  the  King's  lieges  in  Kent 
against  the  King's  peace  ?  Percival,  after  much 
distress  of  mind,  considered  that  to  say  the  Captain 
had  been  summoned  to  London  by  the  King  in 
Council  was  but  to  advance  the  truth  a  little  ;  for 
he  was  pretty  sure  in  his  own  mind  that  such  would 
be  the  fate  of  his  gallant  friend  and  such  the  fruit 
of  his   labour.     He  did    not  scruple,  therefore,  to 

163 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

declare  this  forecast  of  his  as  a  fact  to  the  Prioress. 
Whether  she  beheved  it  or  not  he  had  no  means  of 
telling.  The  Prioress  had  a  baffling  trick  of  gravity 
about  her.  Master  Smith  the  shipman  believed  it, 
but  in  too  literal  a  sense.  'Justice  is  tardy  in  this 
world,'  said  he ;  *  but  if  ever  a  rope  flacked  hungry 
for  a  rogue,  so  flacks  that  rope  in  the  hands  of  the 
King  and  Council  for  old  Brazenguts.' 

Percival  grew  red  under  the  eyes :  *  You  had 
better  repeat  that  to  me  when  we  are  alone,'  he  said 
privily  to  the  mariner ;  to  which  Master  Smith 
replied  with  a  meaning  smile,  that  were  he  alone 
with  the  young  man  he  should  not  waste  time  in  that 
manner.  Percival's  eyes  grew  very  misty ;  and 
Master  Smith  went  on  explosively  to  debate, 
whether  a  piping  voice  ever  took  a  youth  further 
than  a  lady's  footstool  ?  or  whether,  indeed,  a  youth 
(properly  so  called)  could  have  such  a  voice  ? 
'  I  would  see  a  beard  on  that  chin  of  thine  before 
I  trusted  thee  for  a  game-poult,'  he  said ;  *  ah,  and 
thy  throstle-note  should  turn  to  croaking.  My  lady 
of  Ambresbury  trusts  to  sleek  looks ;  but  I  know 
what  I  know.' 

*  What  do  you  know,  sir  ?  '  says  Percival  furiously. 
'  What  the  devil  do  you  know  ? ' 

*  I  know  my  way  about  Gloucester,  replied  the 
Shipman  ;  '  and  if  I  saw  thee  not  kirtled  and 
busked  in  Hare  Lane,  hemming  a  shift  on  the  door- 

164 


THE    PRIORESS'   TALE 

step  of  thy  mother's  house,  mistress,  then  I  have 
never  sailed  the  Severn  River,  and  never  brought 
a  pink  up  Hempstead  Creek.  If  I  am  wrong,  say 
so  ;  but  I  knew  again  that  long  nose  and  button 
mouth  of  thine  the  moment  I  clapped  eyes  on 
thee  at  Winton.' 

'  I  see  no  reason  to  deny  that  I  was  born  in 
Glo'ster,'  said  Percival,  '  nor  have  I  ever  denied  that 
my  father's  house  was  in  Hare  Lane.  But  what  is 
this  to  the  purpose  ? ' 

*  Thus  much/  replied  the  Shipman,'  that  I  cannot 
call  to  mind  any  of  thy  name  in  the  city.  Thrust- 
wood  is  no  Glo'ster  name  to  my  knowledge.  Nor 
do  I  understand  how  one  of  thy  honest  fame  (as 
I  first  knew  thee)  should  go  trampling  after  Holy 
Thomas  in  a  page's  breeches,  calling  thyself  nephew 
(nephew,  ha  !)  to  a  wicked  old  tosspot  mercenary.' 

The  conversation,  neither  encouraged  by  Percival 
nor  by  Smith's  wife,  stayed  here ;  and  the  Scrivener 
broke  in  by  proposing  another  tale  from  one  of  the 
company,  adding  that  he  had  just  remembered  an 
incident  in  the  life  of  the  great  general  Agricola,  so 
remarkable  that  he  felt  sure  of  his  ground  in  offering 
to  relate  it.  But  the  prerogative  of  choice  lay  still 
with  the  Prioress,  who  (saying  that  she  could  not 
select)  made  Percival  her  deputy.  Percival  selected 
the  Prioress,  with  a  discretion  to  which  I  cannot  think 
Master  Smith  had  done  full  justice.     She  began  at 

165 


NEW   CANTERBURY  TALES 

once.  *  If  I  rightly  caught  a  chance  inquiry  of  this 
honest  man's,'  she  said,  half  turning  to  the  shipman, 
*he  asked,  Whether  a  young  lad's  voice  ever  took 
him  far  ? ' 

*  I  did  that,  please  j^our  ladyship,'  said  Smith  ; 
*  but  I  meant  to  hit  another  mark  altogether — 
doubting  the  lad  more  than  the  voice.' 

*  This  assures  me,'  continued  the  Prioress,  *  that 
his  knowledge  of  spiritual  matters  is  not  on  a  level 
with  his  seamanship,  and  again  that  he  is  not  ac- 
quainted with  the  tale  I  shall  now  rehearse.  When 
he  has  heard  it,  I  believe  he  will  acknowledge  his 
question  to  be  answered.  For  we  seem  to  stand 
upon  this  earth,'  she  went  on,  *  close-edged  between 
heaven  and  hell ;  and  sometimes  God  deigns  to 
reveal  the  great  deeps  of  knowledge  out  of  the 
mouths  of  babes.  To  make  haste,  as  many  do,  to 
call  Miracle  !  may  be  to  vaunt  our  experience  at 
the  cost  of  the  Almighty's ;  but  that  is  another  sort 
of  boaster  who  savs,  Law  of  Nature  !  when  God 
suffers  a  poet  to  be  enlarged.  In  this  old  affair  of 
Plessy,  which  bears  points  of  resemblance  to  those 
which  gave  httle  Saint  Hugh  to  Lincoln,  and  to 
Norwich  little  Saint  William,  I  neither  hint  the 
miraculous  nor  the  natural ;  but  exhibit  it  rather  as 
it  comes,  with  the  marks  of  time  upon  its  back. 
Let  others  reason,  not  me. 


166 


THE    PRIORESS'   TALE 

Here  begins  the  Tale  of  Saint  Gervase 
OF  Plessy. 

*  When,'  said  the  Prioress,  '  they  asked  the  priest 
of  Saint  Michael-below-Bridge  what  had  become  of 
the  boy  Gervase,  he  said  "  God  hath  him  in  hand ; " 
but  this  by  no  means  satisfied  his  mother,  whose 
hands  were  emptied.  So  at  high  noon,  when  the 
Lord  of  Plessy,  Roger  Monthermer,  came  riding  in 
to  hold  a  justice-seat,  the  man  and  woman,  parents 
of  the  boy,  stood  before  him  in  hall — the  woman 
very  pinched  in  the  face — and  asked  a  judgment  of 
the  matter. 

'  Said  Monthermer,  stroking  the  knops  of  his 
chair,  "  Recount  your  matter.  I  cannot  judge 
causes  in  the  dark." 

*  The  woman  began  with  a  wail :  "  So  God  judge 
you,  Monthermer,  if  you  miss  the  mark !  My 
Gervase,  my  pretty  boy,  my  lamb,  my  first-born,  is 
gone  in  his  flower ;  cut  down,  torn  away ;  and  my 
eyes  bleed  to  look  for  him !  So  beautiful  a  child ! 
So  likely  a  boy !  So  hopeful  to  be  a  youth !  " — 
thus  she  repined. 

*  Monthermer  says,  "  Shut  that  woman's  mouth. 
Let  me  hear  the  man  speak."  So  they  put  the 
woman's  apron  over  her  head,  and  she  went  on 
querulous  behind  it. 

'  "  My  lord,"  says  the  father,  a  much  respected 
man,  who  kept  the  quay  below  Lene  Bridge,  "  this 

167 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

is  the  case  so  far  as  we  know  it.  My  son  Gervase 
was  playing  with  his  schoolmates  at  half  of  noon 
the  day  before  yesterday :  at  full  noon  he  was  not. 
At  a  quarter  of  noon,  as  some  report,  a  woman 
stood  in  the  kennel  by  the  Pied  Friar's  gate ;  a  dark 
woman,  red-hooded,  ruddy,  with  a  merry  eye. 
Says  she  to  my  boy,  *  Gervase,  I  have  sweetmeats 
in  my  pocket ; '  and  he  replied,  '  Mistress,  1  have 
none  in  mine.'  Then  she,  *  Put  thy  hand  in  my 
pocket,  Gervase,  and  what  thou  findest  take.' 
Thus  laughing  he  did,  but  soon  pulled  his  hand  out 
again,  empty  to  all  appearance.  They  say  that  he 
put  his  fingers  in  his  mouth  and  sucked  them.  At 
the  prick  of  noon,  I  tell  you,  he  was  gone,  and  so 
was  the  woman." 

'  "  How  old  is  Gervase  ?  "  asked  Monthermer, 
after  a  little.     He  is  told,  of  fourteen  years. 

*  "  What  manner  of  a  boy  ?  " 

'  "  My  lord,"  says  the  father,  "  he  is  a  fine  open- 
faced  boy,  not  too  saucy ;  indeed,  a  modest,  good 
boy,  but  sharp,  and  full  of  tricks  among  his  mates. 
Dark-skinned  he  is,  like  myself,  and  black  in  the 
poll  as  I  am,  but  grey-eyed  after  the  fashion  of  his 
mother.  He  was  a  marvellous  sweet  singer,  captain 
of  the  singing-boys  in  the  Pied  Friars'  Church ; 
and  had  been  mock-bishop  on  two  Saint  Nicolas' 
days.  Also  he  was  ever  a  favourite  with  the  maids, 
and  had  a  ready  tongue.     I    do   believe   I   should 

168 


THE    PRIORESS'   TALE 

have  made  a  priest  of  him,  or  perhaps  a  religious ; 
for  the  Hke  of  those  are  great  quahties  in  choir  or 
cloister.  Or  so  it  seems."  I  give  you  the  simple 
words  of  the  man. 

'Just  then  the  woman  pulled  the  apron  from 
her  head,  and  screamed,  pointing  at  Roger 
Monthermer. 

* "  Thou  knowest,  O  head  of  clay,"  she  cried  out, 
"  what  is  become  of  him.     The  Jews,  the  Jews  !  " 

'All  the  bystanders  gaped  at  her;  but  Mon- 
thermer sat  thinking. 

'  Then  he  said,  "  Shut  the  town  gates  and  search 
their  quarter.     But  do  no  violence." 

*  Plessy  lies,  as  you  know,  on  either  side  the 
river  Lene,  which  there  flows  broad  and  strong  and 
of  a  brown  colour,  being  not  far  from  the  freedom 
of  the  sea.  East  of  Plessy  the  sea  is,  and  there 
between  are  the  sea-flats ;  west  are  the  marshes  and 
water-meadows,  stretching  deep  into  the  heart  of 
the  shire,  waste,  uninhabited,  uninhabitable  lands. 
Lene  Bridge  is  midway  of  the  city  boundary ;  and 
west  of  the  bridge,  edging  on  the  river,  walled  and 
gated  on  all  landward  sides,  is  the  quarter  of  the 
Jews,  with  a  synagogue,  and  a  large  church  called 
of  Saint-Paul-in-Jewry,  whither  on  the  day  Passiojiis 
Domini  they  drive  all  the  Jews,  men,  women,  and 
children,  to  be  preached  (if  that  be  possible)  into 
reasonable  compunction  for  their  crowning  offence. 

169 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

Now,  the  day  when  Gervase  was  stolen  (if  stolen 
at  all)  was  Holy  Thursday,  and  the  day  when  his 
parents  pleaded  before  Monthermer  the  Eve  of 
Easter,  the  Sabbath  of  the  Jews.  This  made  it 
a  very  easy  matter  to  hold  inquest,  with  the  whole 
of  them  packed  in  their  synagogue. 

*  They  held  two  inquests,  one  civil  and  one  divine. 
For  the  second,  which  the  Bishop  of  Plessy  took 
in  hand,  they  made  a  procession  of  the  church 
estate,  and  having  first  purified  it  with  incense, 
perambulated  the  synagogue  with  cross  and  candles, 
and  the  Host  under  a  canopy.  Great  indignation 
was  caused  among  the  Jews,  who  said  that  their 
franchise  was  broken,  but  nothing  was  found  by 
these  means ;  nor  did  the  Bishop's  sermon, 
delivered  from  the  words,  The  hidden  things  shall  be 
made  plain,  draw  any  testimony  from  a  stiff-necked 
generation.  No  more  success  rewarded  the  fatigues 
of  the  Mayor,  bailiffs  and  commonalty  of  the  city, 
who  visited,  or  said  that  they  visited,  every  house 
in  Jewry.  There  were  many  who  denied  this, 
saying  that  such  a  thing  was  not  possible  where 
tenements  were  so  lofty  and  visitors  so  fat.  But 
the  result  was  no  more  comfort  to  the  parents  of 
Gervase  than  was  the  explanation.  Those  poor 
souls  mourned  when  all  the  world  rejoiced  :  there 
was  no  Easter  for  them.  The  Pied  Friars  also 
mourned,  since  in  their  church  was  none  to  sing 

170 


THE   PRIORESS'   TALE 

the  solemn  music  proper  to  the  feast ;  a  terrible 
thing  for  the  community,  whose  fame  seemed  gone 
out  with  Gervase. 

*  Two  days  afterward  Gervase's  mother  appeared 
at  Norham  very  early.  Monthermer  was  yet  in 
bed,  but  she,  pale  and  strenuous  as  she  was,  must 
see  him  at  all  hazard.  She  did  see  him,  and  ilung 
at  him  all  her  story.  She  said  she  had  had  a  vision 
of  her  boy.  She  had  seen  him  standing  alone  and 
naked  in  the  dusk,  with  blood  upon  his  mouth. 

*  "  Do  you  wake  me  out  of  visions,  woman,  on 
account  of  nothing  better  than  your  own  ?  "  asked 
Monthermer,  angry. 

' "  I    know   the   place,    I    know   the    place,"   she 
persisted.     "  It  is  all  clear  to  me  now." 
'  "  Where  was  the  boy  then  ?  "  he  asked  her. 

*  "  Oh,"  says  she,  "  it  was  underground,  a  wet 
place  near  the  river  floor.  The  ground  was  puddled 
with  wet,  the  walls  trickled  water,  but  a  little  light 
came  in  from  a  hole  in  the  side.  The  walls  were 
of  hewn  clay,  two  piers  of  old  brick  held  up  the 
vault.  There  were  great  worms  in  there,  and  slow 
fat  rats,  and  pools  of  water  ;  and  in  the  midst  my 
lovely  boy,  staring,  not  crying ;  and  naked,  with 
blood  upon  his  mouth.  Oh,  Christ  Jesus  !  "  She 
wept  and  tossed  herself  about. 

*  "  Get  you  hence,  woman,"  says  Monthermer  ; 
"  I  am  going  to  get  out  of  bed." 

171 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

'  When  he  was  dressed  he  called  for  horse  and 
sword,  drank  a  quart-potful  of  beer,  mounted,  and 
bid  the  woman  lead  him  to  the  place  of  her  vision. 
She  did  not  hesitate  to  take  the  bridle  nor  to  lead 
him  directly  to  Plessy  ;  but  she  turned  before  the 
bridge,  followed  Prick- Hart  Street  and  the  Flesher- 
Gate  to  the  gate  of  Jewry.  She  took  him  within 
Jewry.  The  door  of  the  Synagogue  was  shut  and 
barred. 

*  "  It  was  in  there,"  she  said,  "  underground." 

*  Monthermer  cried  to  his  men,  "  Fetch  me  down 
that  door  :  and  go  one  of  you  find  the  elders  of  the 
Jews."  These  things  were  begun.  Before  the 
panels  were  started  three  or  four  old  men  were 
brought  up  by  the  watch.  One  of  them,  with 
a  key  on  a  cushion,  offered  it  kneeling  to  Monther- 
mer. So  Monthermer  went  into  the  synagogue, 
holding  the  woman's  hand  ;  and  all  the  rest  followed 
in  silence. 

*  There  was  a  shallow  apse  at  the  end  of  the 
synagogue  paved  with  blue  tiles,  and  a  recess  in 
that  again,  which  a  curtain  covered.  Towards  this, 
when  Monthermer's  guide  would  have  led  him, 
the  old  Jews  ran  hastily  with  their  arms  spread  out. 

'  ■'  Not  there,  my  lord,  not  there  !  "  they  cried. 
'  **  How  now,  dogs  ?  "  asked  their  lord. 

*  "  My  lord,"  said  they,  "  that  is  a  very  holy  place 
in   our   religion ;  "    but    before    Monthermer    could 

172 


THE    PRIORESS'   TALE 

say  Pish  !  Gervase's  mother  was  within  the  apse 
on  her  knees,  and  her  face  close  to  the  pavement 
smelhng  the  tiles.  All  watched  her.  Presently 
she  looked  up,  with  the  look  of  one  who  smells 
sour,  in  her  eyes  a  pain.  "  Hereabouts  they  went 
down  with  him,"  she  said.  Monthermer  began  to 
prod  the  pavement  with  his  long  sword. 

*  When  they  had  tortured  one  of  the  Jews  for 
a  few  minutes  he  confessed  the  way  down ;  so  they 
went  through  the  pavement  by  a  ladder  into  a 
vaulted  place,  very  much  as  the  woman  had  de- 
scribed it ;  and  one  brought  down  a  torch  of  wax. 
There,  standing  up  in  the  midst  of  the  vault, 
mortised,  they  saw  a  wooden  cross. 

'  Monthermer  said,  pointing  to  it  with  his  sword, 
"  And  what  is  that  doing  here,  you  dogs  ?  " 

'  A  very  old  Jew  with  long  white  eyelashes 
answered  him,  blinking,  "  My  lord,  we  have  heard 
of  great  things,  marvellous  doings  and  miracles, 
wrought  by  the  Cross  of  Christ.  Therefore  we 
have  one  here,  thinking  that  perchance  it  may 
show  us  a  portent,  and  change  our  hearts.  But 
as  yet  it  hath  not  vouchsafed  any  such  thing." 
This  was  an  answer  to  which  none  could  take 
exception  ;  at  least  Monthermer  took  none.  But 
he  was  occupied  with  something  else.  He  went 
forward  and  touched  the  cross. 

*'*  Hounds,"  says  he,  "  it  is  wet." 

173 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

*  "  Many  unavailing  tears  have  been  shed  on  that 
cross,  my  lord,"  replied  the  old  Jew. 

*  "  I  believe  that,  by  Heaven  !  "  cried  Monther- 
mer ;  "  and  much  beside,  you  spent  rogue." 

*  But  as  nothing  could  be  proved  against  them, 
Monthermer  (a  just  man)  would  not  put  them  to 
more  question  or  to  death.  He  committed  them 
to  the  common  prison  until  he  was  more  fully 
advised,  with  this  solitary  grace,  that  every  Sunday 
they  should  sit  in  the  nave  of  Saint-Paul's-in-Jewry 
and  hear  mass  and  a  sermon.  And  this  was  done 
from  Easter  to  Ascension.  So  much  for  Monther- 
mer, Gervase's  mother,  and  the  elders  of  the  Jews. 

'  Now  hear  the  truth  of  the  matter.  The  ruddy 
woman's  pocket  had  been  full  of  some  sticky  stuff 
which  Gervase  found  to  be  very  sweet.  While  he 
was  still  sucking  his  fingers  she  took  his  arm,  saying, 
"  Come  with  me,  my  dear,  and  I  will  give  you 
a  bellyful  of  that." 

*  Gervase  looked  about  him,  up  the  street  and 
down  the  street,  and  at  the  woman,  who  had 
a  merry  face.  He  gave  her  his  hand  without 
a  word  said,  she  put  herself  between  him  and  the 
garth,  and  slipped  beyond  the  gate.  "  Now  hurry, 
hurry,"  she  said  in  a  whisper,  and  ran,  and  Gervase 
with  her.  They  ran  up  Hunger  Lane,  across  the 
square  into  the  Shambles,  crossed  Norham  Street, 
got  into   Prick-Hart  Street  which  is  by  Leneside; 

1 74 


THE    PRIORESS'   TALE 

and  so  came  to  a  gate  of  blackened  brick  where 
an  old  watchman  sat  nodding  behind  his  wicket 
asleep.  Gervase  did  not  know  the  street  beyond 
this  gate :  it  was  narrow,  ill-paved  and  dirty,  and 
the  houses  in  it  had  very  few  windows,  tall  as  they 
were.  Such  as  they  had  were  shuttered  close. 
Women,  muffled  and  dark  like  his  companion,  but 
much  more  pale,  and  heavy-eyed,  stood  about  the 
doors ;  some  sat  on  the  doorsteps,  with  their  heads 
between  their  knees,  some  were  nursing  babies, 
half  their  bodies  bare.  What  men  they  met  seemed 
very  old,  with  deep  lines  on  their  foreheads 
and  discoloured  white  beards  over  their  breasts. 
Gervase  saw  no  boys,  no  young  men,  no  old  women, 
or  very  few.  There  was  a  faint  smell,  as  of  cooked 
fat,  about  these  silent  ways,  httle  air,  no  sun.  All 
this  made  the  boy  pull  back.  "  Not  so  fast, 
mistress,  not  so  fast,"  he  said,  panting  rather ; 
"  I  don't  know  whither  you  will  take  me."  But  she 
did  not  slacken. 

'  "  Come,  child,"  was  all  she  said  ;  and  turned 
a  corner  then  into  a  lane  so  narrow  that  Gervase 
judged  he  could  have  spanned  it  with  his  two  arms. 
Also  it  became  necessary  that  they  should  walk 
in  file  or  embraced.  The  woman  chose  for  the 
latter  course,  put  her  arm  about  the  boy's  middle, 
and  had  him  closer  than  ever.  In  this  lane,  high 
above  him,  Gervase  saw  two  women  pass  a  child 

175 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

across  from  house  to  house.  There  seemed  no 
passengers  ;  but  near  the  end  of  the  lane,  suddenly, 
a  youngish  woman  with  very  light  eyes  and  a  shawl 
over  her  head  stepped  out  of  a  doorway  and  spoke 
to  the  one  who  had  Gervase. 

'  "  Are  you  sure  of  him  ?  "  she  asked  ;  and  the 
other  replied. 

' "  Not  yet.     Come,  and  we  shall  be." 

*  The  newcomer's  eyes  swam  with  tears  as  she 
looked  at  the  boy. 

'  "  Oh,  he  stirs  my  thought !  "  she  said,  and  her 
lips  quivered.  All  this  frightened  Gervase  so  much 
that  he  stuck  his  heels  into  the  ground,  refusing 
to  budge.  The  ruddy  woman  coaxed,  rallied,  at 
last  cuffed  him,  but  to  little  purpose.  "  No,  no,  no," 
he  said  ;  "  I  don't  hke  it.     I'm  afraid." 

' "  Help  me,  Sornia,"  said  she ;  and  the  pale- 
eyed  other,  still  looking  piercingly  at  Gervase,  came 
edging  up,  and  took  his  other  arm,  very  gently. 
Together  they  got  him  on  round  two  or  three 
corners,  in  and  out  of  a  labyrinth  of  close-smelling 
dark  passages,  until  they  came  to  a  green 
door  marked  HILLEL.  After  a  knocking,  this 
opened  seemingly  by  itself;  and  Gervase  was 
led  in. 

*  From  this  point  was  no  time  for  protest  nor 
struggling  in  the  dark,  nor  could  either  have  availed 
him.     But,  indeed,  after  his  short  fit  of  jibbing  in 

176 


THE   PRIORESS'   TALE 

the  street,  he  had  recovered  himself.  He  was  at 
once  a  sturdy  and  a  sharp  lad.  Not  sure  that 
there  was  anything  to  fear,  he  was  quite  sure  that 
there  was  nothing  to  be  gained  by  trying  to  escape. 
Now  there  was  always  something  to  be  hoped  for, 
namely,  that  for  which  he  had  come;  and  he  was 
quite  astute  enough  to  have  noticed  the  way 
Sornia  had  looked  at  him.  What  followed,  there- 
fore, he  suffered. 

'When  they  had  taken  him  down  some  steps, 
and  along  a  passage  which  smelt  mouldy  and  was 
cold,  they  brought  him  into  a  room  bare  of  all  kind 
of  furniture  but  a  press  in  the  wall.  Here  the  two 
women  stripped  him  of  everything  he  had  on,  then 
looked  him  carefully  all  over. 

'  "  There  is  no  blemish  nor  spot,^'  said  she  who 
had  brought  him  in :  "  all  is  well  so  far." 

'  Sornia  said,  "  Quick,  the  robe ;  I  cannot  bear 
to  look  upon  such  sweet  flesh."  So  Myrrha  (that 
was  her  name  who  first  got  him)  went  to  the  press 
and  got  a  clean  linen  robe  with  sleeves  to  it,  all 
white.  This  she  put  upon  Gervase,  and  bound  it 
round  his  loins  with  a  crimson  silk  girdle.  "  Now 
all  is  ready,"  she  said  ;  "  Come." 

*  "What  are  you  going  to  do  with  me,  mistress  ?  " 
says  Gervase,  a  good  deal  scared. 

'  "  You  will  soon  see,  child,"  Myrrha  told  him. 
The  other  said  nothing  at  all. 

177  M 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

*  '*  But  I  want  the  sweetmeat  you  promised  me," 
says  Gervase;  *'  and  then  I  want  to  go  away." 

'  *'  You  shall  have  it,  Gervase,"  Myrrha  said ; 
"only  come  like  a  good  boy." 

'"But  I  must  have  my  clothes.  And  why  am 
I  in  this  frock  ?  What  is  the  meaning  of  such 
a  gallimaufry  ?  I  have  never  been  pulled  about  like 
this  before,  let  me  tell  you."  He  spoke  to  Sornia, 
half  crying,  though  he  did  all  he  could  to  hold  an 
even  voice.  To  Sornia  also  his  words  cost  as  much 
to  hear ;  she  tried  not  to  look  at  him,  but  could  not 
help  herself.  Once  she  shook  her  head,  and  once 
held  out  her  arms  to  him  behind  Myrrha's  back. 
Thus  some  sort  of  secret  intelligence  passed 
between  them,  and  Gervase^  taking  comfort,  again 
allowed  himself  to  be  led  by  the  hand. 

*  They  took  him  down  a  panelled  passage-way, 
which  was  lighted  by  six-branched  lamps,  into 
a  small  room  of  two  doors,  where  he  saw  a  table, 
a  chair,  and  a  bowl  full  of  white  substance,  stiff 
and  glistening.  "  Sit  down  and  take  your  filling 
of  it,"  said  Myrrha.  Gervase  put  his  fingers  into 
the  bowl  and  sucked  the  tips  of  them. 

* "  It  is  the  same  you  had  in  xour  pocket,"  he 
says ;  then  sat  down  and  ate  some  of  the  stuff. 
It  had  a  very  sweet  sharp  taste,  and  was  pungent 
in  the  nose.  He  ate  for  a  time,  but  sparingly; 
presently  stopped,  listening. 

178 


THE   PRIORESS'   TALE 

*  **  Who  are  those  men  beyond  the  door  ? "  he 
asked,  looking  to  Sornia.  She  turned  her  head 
away ;  it  was  Myrrha  who  answered,  "  They  are 
friends  of  mine.     Eat  your  filHng." 

'  **  I  want  no  more  of  this  muck,"  says  Gervase ; 
**  I  feel  sick."  The  two  women  looked  at  each 
other  in  a  queer  way.  Gervase  turned  restless  eyes 
about  the  chamber,  wiped  his  forehead  once  or 
twice  with  his  hand.  *'  Oh  God,"  says  he  then, 
**  I  am  horribly  sick."  And  he  was,  needing  all 
the  comfort  the  pair  of  women  could  give  him,  till 
at  last  he  was  so  weak  that  he  laid  his  head  on 
Myrrha's  bosom  and  swooned  off. 

'  Sornia,  white  all  over,  said,  "  Dare  we  go  on 
with  this  ?     Have  we  blood  or  milk  in  our  breasts  ?" 

*  *'  Neither,"  said  Myrrha,  "  but  gall." 

* "  Devilry,"  said  Sornia,  in  a  hot  whisper, 
*'  devilry,  Myrrha !     I  had  a  child  once." 

'  Myrrha  shrugged  :  "  I  had  none.  Get  me  some 
cold  water.  We  must  bring  him  round,  the  little 
glutton." 

*  *'  He  has  been  speedier  sick  than  any  !  "  cried 
Sornia  in  a  fierce  taking.  "  He  has  eaten  barely 
a  spoonful."  But  she  went  away  for  the  water, 
and  while  she  was  gone  a  black  man  put  his  head 
in  at  another  door.  He  was  entirely  without  hair, 
and  had  lines  like  furrows  on  either  side  of  his  nose. 

'He  said,  "Are  you  not   ready?"    and    Myrrha 

179 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

looked  down  at  the  boy's  face  lying  close  against 
her  breast.  Gervase  was  asleep.  She  shook  her 
head,  and  the  black's  drew  in. 

*  The  water  revived  Gervase ;  he  sighed  and 
opened  his  eyes,  but  lay  where  he  was  and  thence 
looked  up,  smiling  confidently  at  Myrrha.  At  this 
adorable  act  even  her  hard  breath  quickened  ;  but 
Sornia  hid  her  face  in  her  arm  upon  the  table. 

*  "  You  ate  too  much  of  my  sweetmeat,  Gervase," 
said  Myrrha. 

'"I  ate  very  little  of  it,"  says  the  boy,  "and 
yet  too  much."  He  shut  his  eyes  again  ;  Myrrha 
jogged  him,  asking,  "  Can  you  stand  up  now, 
Gervase  ? " 

'"Oh,  yes,"  says  he,  "I  can  stand  up;  but  you 
had  better  hold  my  hand." 

'  Myrrha  wiped  his  mouth  and  forehead  with  her 
apron,  smoothed  his  hair,  and  then  called  up  Sornia 
with  a  "  tst,  tst,"  in  the  teeth.  Sornia  brushed 
her  eyes  with  the  back  of  her  hand,  and  came 
forward.  Each  took  a  hand  of  Gervase  (Sornia 
squeezed  that  which  she  had,  and  was  answered 
again)  and  went  with  him  to  the  door  at  the 
further  end  of  the  room,  which  had  last  been 
used  by  the  black.  Myrrha  pushed  it  open  with 
her  knee.  There  were  three  steps  down  from  it 
into  a  great  hall  full  of  men  in  a  strong  light. 

*  The   light   was  so  strong   that    Gervase   bowed 

i8o 


THE    PRIORESS'   TALE 

his   head    to   meet    it.     It    seemed    solid ;    but    as 
a  fact  it  came  from  innumerable  candles  stuck  by 
the  walls.     His  eyeballs  ached,  it  was  sharp   pain 
to  look  about  him;  but  when  he  was  able  he  saw 
a  spacious  room,  dazzlingly  bright,  which  stretched 
back   to   an   apse    and    a    heavy   curtained    place. 
Under  a  dome  in  the  midst  was  a  small  dais  with 
a  stool  of  red  lacquer  upon  it,  and  divers  rolls  of 
parchment   with    silk   tassels    hanging   from    them, 
heaped   also   on   the  dais.     All    about   this,    before 
it,  behind   it,  on  the  right  of  it   and   on  the  left, 
were   men,    sitting   on    the   floor   with    bent   down 
heads :  old   men    for   the   most    part,    with    beards, 
grey,   grizzled,    and   all   white;    among   them   here 
and  there  he  saw  blacks.     Very  dark  blue,  black, 
or  otherwise  sad   was   the   colour   of  their    habits, 
and  all   had  their  heads  covered  in  hoods.     Every 
face    looked    to   the    door    as  he   was    brought   in ; 
the  dark  floor  swam  with  sudden  white :  he  heard 
the  rustle  of  multitudinous  robes.     At  the  further 
end,  immediately  before  the  dais,  three  men  stood 
up,    a   white-beard    with    a   fillet    round    his   head, 
a  grey-beard,  and  a  hairless  black.     Gervase  wetted 
his  lips  with  his  tongue  and  took  in  a  sharp  breath. 
He  was  drawn  through  the  sitting  men,  by  a  narrow 
way  in  the  midst  of  them  ;    and   going,  he   heard 
their  hot  breath,  sometimes  whistling  like  the  wind 
in   the    keyhole,    sometimes    thick    and    short    like 
that    of    dogs.      From    one    end    of    the    hall    to 

i8i 


NEW   CANTERBURY  TALES 

the  other,  from  the  door  to  the  dais  under  the 
dome,  they  led  quivering  Gervase.  There,  stand- 
ing before  the  three  standing  men,  Myrrha 
said — 

*  "  Sirs,  we  present  you  here  a  virgin  without  spot 
according  to  the  custom  of  our  people.  Try  him, 
in  the  hope  that  all  may  be  accomplished,  even  at 
this  day."  The  old  man,  midmost  of  the  three, 
replied,  *'  It  is  well  that  you  do  it ;  for  he  may  live 
to  be  a  king  of  our  nation,  and  that  King  who 
should  come.  Give  him  to  us,  and  begone."  So 
they  gave  Gervase's  two  hands  into  those  of  the  old 
man,  and  went  away  leaving  him  there. 

*  The  first  thing  done  to  him  was  to  loosen  his 
girdle,  take  off  the  robe,  and  ascertain  that  he  was 
what  he  had  been  reported.  The  scrutiny  was 
closer,  but  yet  no  blemish  was  found  upon  him 
anywhere,  save  a  black  speck  on  one  of  his  upper 
teeth,  which  they  took  off  carefully  with  a  file. 
Then  the  old  man,  in  a  mild  and  rather  fatigued 
voice,  questioned  him,  and  was  answered,  as 
follows  : — 

*  "  What  is  your  name  ?  " 
'  **  It  is  Gervase." 

*  "  Of  what  age  are  you  ?  " 

'  "  Of  fifteen  years,  come  Childermas  next." 
' "  Of  what    condition    are  your    parents   in    this 
place  ?  " 

* "  My  father  keeps  the  quay  below  Lene  Bridge  ; 

182 


THE    PRIORESS'   TALE 

and  my  mother  has  poultry,  and  a  small  huckster's 

shop." 

'  '*  Are  you  first-born  of  your  parents  ?  " 

* "  I  am  first-born  son  ;  but  there  are  three  sisters 

above  me — Ursula  and  Gudula  and  Griselda." 

*  "  Have  you  brothers,  Gervase  ?  " 

*  "  Master,  I  have  three." 

*  "  Are  you  a  scholar  ?  " 

"*  I  go  to  school,  sir,  in  the  cloister  of  the  Pied 
Friars." 

'  "  What  do  they  teach  you  there  ?  " 

*  "  Singino^,  sir,  and  the  Christian  Verities." 

*  "  You  sing  ?     Sing  now  to  us." 

'  Then  to  all  these  old  men,  squatting  on  the 
floor  with  their  knees  clasped  in  their  hands, 
Gervase  sang  like  a  thrush.  Certainly  he  had 
never  voiced  in  such  a  company  before,  nor  in  such 
a  guise,  for  he  was  mother-naked.  These  accidents 
made  him  uncertain  at  first ;  the  notes  came 
strangely :  but  they  gushed  full  flood  from  him  as 
he  went  on  with  his  work.  You  could  have  seen 
the  sound,  like  a  liquid  thing,  ripple  up  his  throat. 
First  he  sang  In  Exitu  Israel,  then  Quare  fremuerunt, 
in  a  sweet  shrill  voice ;  but  next,  with  richer 
volume,  Pange  lingua  gloriosi,  and  (with  a  sobbing 
descant  very  lovely  to  hear)  Anima  Christi.  Last 
of  all,  tired  as  he  was,  he  sang  in  a  dead  hush,  on 
a  strange,   meek,    questing  note,  with    the   self-fed 

183 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

rapture  of  a  lonely  bird,  that  hymn  of  comfortable 
prophecy,  which  runs  at  its  close — 

*"  Pax  ibi  florida,  pascua  vivida,  viva  medulla, 
Nulla  molestia,  nulla  tragoedia,  lacryma  nulla. 
O  sancta  potio,  sacra  refectio,  pax  animarum, 
O  pius,  O  bonus,  O  placidus  sonus,  hymnus  earum  !  " 

*  At  the  end  of  this  his  speaking  voice  broke  a 
spell,  when  he  asked,  "  Sirs,  shall  I  sing  any 
more  ?  " 

*  The  old  man  whom  directly  he  addressed  was 
slow  to  answer  him.  His  eyes  were  shut,  his 
mouth  drawn  wide,  his  face  upturned,  as  if  he  were 
still  bathing  it  in  the  stream  of  young  music. 
When  he  did  speak  it  was  not  to  answer. 

*  "  To  pierce  so  piercing  a  thing,"  he  said,  as  if 
to  himself,  "  What  greater  gift  can  a  man  make  ? 
Such  a  note  might  cleave  the  firmament  on  the 
Last  Day — and  for  our  sakes  do  it.  Maybe  we 
have  indeed  a  herald  and  ambassador  in  this  latter 
end  of  time.  O  my  boy,"  he  said  fearfully,  opening 
his  wrinkled  eyes,  "  what  is  the  sense  of  these  words 
you  have  sung  ?  " 

*  "  They  are  Latin  words,"  said  Gervase,  **  and 
I  know  very  little  about  them  ;  but  no  doubt  they 
are  mostly  concerned  with  the  blessings  of  the 
Catholic  religion." 

*  The  old  man  sighed,  but  went  on  eagerly  to  ask, 

184 


THE    PRIORESS'   TALE 

"  And  what   is   the  Cathohc   religion,  thou   strong 
singer  ?  "     Gervase  looked  at  him  quickly. 

'"  I  thought  everyone  knew  that,"  he  said.  "It 
is  the  worship  of  God  in  Trinity,  and  salvation  by 
the  Cross  whereon  our  Saviour  died  ;  most  of  all  it 
is  the  benefit  of  the  prayers  of  our  Lady.  She,  as 
we  understand,  cries  to  God,  her  Son,  night  and 
day  for  Christian  people.  And  God  always  listens 
to  what  she  says,  and  blesses  us.  And  when  He  is 
not  blessing  us,  He  is  sending  Jews,  and  all  Turks, 
and  other  Atheists  to  Hell." 

*  The  sitting  crowd  surged  all  together  here,  and 
stopped  him  with  gestures ;  and  some  began  to 
murmur  and  talk  hotly  to  each  other.  But  the  chief 
old  man,  staying  them  with  a  lifted  hand,  turned  to 
Gervase  again. 

'  "  Dost  thou  believe  all  this,  O  singer  ?  " 

*  Gervase  said,  "  I  certainly  believe  it,  sir ;"  and 
the  old  questioner  looked  desperately  grey. 

*  A  red-bearded  man  stood  up  in  the  middle  hall. 
Supporting  himself  on  either  side  by  the  shoulder  of 
another,  he  swayed  about,  trying  to  speak.  But  his 
head  wagged,  his  teeth  rattled  together,  no  words 
came.  So  he  remained,  jerking  like  a  man  hanged, 
showing  his  tongue  and  white  eyeballs. 

'  *'  Speak,  Malachi,"  said  the  old  man.  The 
other  swallowed,  and  in  a  thick  voice  said,  "  Make 
him  king."     The  old  man  wiped  his  brow. 

18=; 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

*  *'  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  will  do  it  if  I  must,  and  if  it 
is  demanded  of  me." 

*  Then  they  all  cried,  "  Make  him  king  !  Make 
him  king ! "  with  one  voice,  which  came  in  two 
thudding  shocks,  like  waves  in  volume  attacking 
a  cliff:  Gervase  blenched  to  hear  and  feel  its  vehe- 
mence, and  stood  quaking  before  his  witnesses, 
scarce  knowing  what  they  next  did. 

*  They  put  on  him  a  red  robe  with  a  white  girdle  ; 
and  some  one  brought  a  circlet  of  dry  bramble  and 
set  it  on  his  head.  So  apparelled,  they  stood  him 
between  them  on  the  fore  part  of  the  dais,  while  all 
the  company  came,  one  man  after  another,  and  bent 
the  knee  to  him,  saying  as  he  knelt,  "  Hail  thou, 
who  mayst  be  our  king  !  " 

'  There  were  more  than  two  hundred  who  thus 
worshipped  him ;  and  long  before  the  end  Gervase 
was  so  tired  that  he  tottered,  and  must  be  held  up 
in  the  arms  of  the  old  man.  A  little  blood  from 
a  scratch  on  his  temples  trickled  down  his  cheek  to 
his  nose,  and  made  him  snuffle. 

*  At  the  end  of  the  ceremony,  the  old  man,  seeing 
the  boy  nodded,  gave  him  a  little  shake  and  woke 
him  up. 

* "  Now,  Gervase,"  he  says,  "  prepare  thyself. 
For  having  done  thee  the  honours  of  a  king,  we 
must  do  God  honour  according  to  the  custom  of 
our  nation,  and  according  to  our  hope." 

i86 


THE    PRIORESS'   TALE 

*  Gervase,  half  lying  in  his  arms,  looked  up 
sideways,  being  scared.     His  lips  went  very  white. 

*  "  Oh,  sir,"  he  faltered,  "  are  you  going  to  kill 
me?" 

'The  old  man  blinked.  "We  think  that  thou 
wilt  first  die,  as  blind  men  reckon,"  he  told  him. 
"  But  this  is  the  hope  we  have — That  that  which 
happened  once  before  (as  the  Christians  report) 
may  happen  yet  once  again,  and  so  this  people  also 
be  convinced  of  the  truth.  For  we  still  wait  for 
our  king  indeed — namely,  him  who  may  overcome 
death  and  (as  Esaias  saith)  lead  captivity  captive." 

*  Gervase,  you  may  believe,  did  not  show  any 
understanding  of  this.  He  was  engaged  wetting 
his  lips.  When  the  speech  was  done  he  looked  up 
again  trembling,  and  asked,  "  What  are  you  going 
to  do  to  me,  sir  ?  " 

*  "  We  shall  hang  thee  on  a  cross,  Gervase,"  said 
the  old  man. 

'  Gervase  looked  all  round  about  him  from  one 
tense  face  to  another,  searching  (as  it  seemed)  the 
eyes  of  Fate,  if  haply  he  could  find  and  read  in 
them  the  riddle  of  his  troubles.  Face  after  face 
he  pondered  and  left ;  he  must  have  looked  into 
them  all.  He  did  not  cry,  nor  tremble  at  the  lips, 
though  his  mouth  was  a  little  open,  and  at  the 
knees  he  certainly  did  tremble.  Finally  his 
thoughtful  gaze  came  back  to  the  face  of  the  old 
man  who  held  him.     But  he  said  nothing. 

187 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

*"Well,"  said  that  other,  "hast  thou  nothing  to 
say  to  us  ?  Is  there  to  be  no  sign  from  the  edge  of 
Hfe  ?     No  sign  at  all  ?  " 

'  Gervase,  no  fool,  said,  "  Sir,  if  you  please, 
I  should  like  to  say  my  say  to  one  of  the  women 
who  brought  me  here,  not  Myrrha/' 

*  "  What,  not  to  her  who  gave  thee  the  sweet- 
meat ?  " 

*  "  No,  no,"  says  Gervase  in  a  hurry;  "  no,  no,  to 
the  other  one.     I  will  speak  to  her." 

*  They  sent  for  Sornia,  who  came  quickly  in  and 
straight  to  Gervase.  The  men  drew  a  little  apart ; 
she  knelt  beside  him  and  put  her  arms  about  his 
body,  whispering,  "Speak  dear,  speak;  I  am  Sornia, 
that  loves  thee."  Gervase  looked  into  her  face  with 
his  troubled  eyes,  hesitating  for  words  which  might 
express,  without  naming,  his  supposed  fate.  No 
child  either  believes  in  or  will  talk  of  his  own  death. 

*  "  Well,  Sornia,"  he  said,  "  I  am  afraid  they  are 
going  to  do  something  to  me  at  last.  It  is  a  bad 
business — very  bad.  Oh,  oh,  oh  !  "  he  sobbed,  with 
a  gush  of  sympathy  for  himself.  "  I  can't  die, 
Sornia  !  " 

*  She  pressed  him  close.  "  Dearest  boy,  dearest 
boy,"  she  whispered  urgently,  "  thou  slialt  not. 
Trust  to  me.  Oh,  mercy,  how  I  love  thee,  my 
beautiful !  " 

'  "  Why,"  says  he,  not  looking  at  her,  but  with 
fingers   restless    on    her    shoulder,   "  Why  do    you 

i88 


THE    PRIORESS'   TALE 

love  me,  Sornia  ? "  She  shook  her  hair  back  as 
she  clung  to  him. 

'  "  I  can  save  thee  because  of  my  love^  Gervase  ; 
and  I  love  thee  because  once  I  had  a  son  like  thee. 
Thou  hast  made  me  mad  for  my  son.  If  I  save 
thee,  wilt  thou  not  be  my  son  ?  " 

'  Gervase  looked  at  her  seriously.  "  If  you  say 
that  you  will  save  me,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  believe 
you.  Will  you  begin  to  save  me  now  ?  Will  you 
speak  to  these  old  men  ?  " 

*  But  she  shook  her  head.  "  No,  my  dear,  no. 
They  will  put  thee  on  the  cross  and  fasten  thee 
there.  I  cannot  prevent  it,  but  thou  shalt  not 
die  of  that.  Presently  after  they  will  go  away, 
and  then  I  come  quickly.  Thou  shalt  not  die ;  it 
is  the  terror  of  the  loneliness  and  the  long 
pains  that  kill  through  the  cross.  Be  brave, 
my  boy  Gervase,  and  endure  what  thou  canst.  I 
am  very  sure  to  save  thee,  because  of  my  deep 
love." 

'  "  Well,"  said  Gervase  in  a  hushed  voice.  And 
then  coaxingly  he  touched  her  cheek,  saying,  "Come 
soon,  Sornia." 

'  She  strained  him  in  her  arms  :  "  Dearest,  I  shall 
bleed  more  than  thou  until  I  come." 

'  Says  Gervase,  "  I  bleed  now.  I  can  taste  blood 
in  my  mouth." 

*  She  kissed  him  secretly,  rose  and  went  from  him 

189 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

without  another  word.     The  old  man  caught  at  her 
arm  as  she  turned. 

*  "  Well,  what  said  he,  Sornia  ?  " 

*  She   looked  him   fixedly   in   the  face,  her   eyes 
strangely  glittering. 

*  *'  He  said,  I  cannot  die,"  she  answered.     "  And 
his  words  are  true.     There  will  be  no  more  of  this." 

*  The  old  man  caught  his  breath.     **  Oh,  do  you 
believe  it  ?     Do  you  believe  it  ?  " 

*  Sornia  said,  "  I  do  believe  it.     Do  your  work, 
and  let  me  go." 


*  Having  stripped  him  once  more,  they  took  him 
down  a  ladder  through  a  hole  in  the  floor  into 
a  place  lit  only  by  the  light  from  above,  dark  else  in 
all  corners,  very  cold^  and  wet  under  foot.  There 
was  a  great  cross  of  wood  there,  on  which  they  laid 
him.  Then  they  strapped  his  wrists  and  ankles  with 
cords,  and  did  the  rest  of  their  work  as  quickly  as 
they  could.  One  came  and  muffled  Gervase's  mouth 
with  a  handkerchief.  CalHng  then  for  help,  they 
raised  the  cross  and  slipped  it  into  a  socket. 
Gervase  set  his  teeth,  his  eyes,  the  bones  of  his 
face.  He  gave  but  one  short  cry  when  the  muscles 
of  his  arms  felt  the  wrench  and  all  his  flesh  seemed 
one  piercing  pain  :  after  that  he  moaned  very  low 
as  he  breathed,  or  snuffled  at  the  nose.      One  by 

190 


THE    PRIORESS'   TALE 

one  in  order  came  all  the  company  past  the 
cross.  To  each  as  he  came  the  old  man  said 
these  words : — 

*  **  Brother,  you  have  crucified  your  king.  Why  did 
you  so  ?  "     And  each  answered  him  : — 

*  *'  Brother,  because  we  believe  that  we  should  be 
crucified,  and  the  king  stand  for  his  people.''^ 

'  Then  the  old  man,  "  But  if  he  die,  brother  ?  " 

*  And  the  catechumen,  "  Then  we  shall  know  that  he 
is  not  the  king  indeed.'^ 

*  After  the  last  man  had  come  down  out  of  the 
light  and  climbed  up  into  it  again,  the  old  man 
turned  to  the  cross  with  lifted  hands,  and  cried 
in  a  loud  voice,  "  Live,  child,  if  it  be  possible,  and  be 
king  for  ever  after  the  order  of  Melchisedec."  Then 
he,  too,  went  up,  and  left  Gervase  hanging  alone. 

*  It  was  still  quite  dark,  perhaps  not  yet  midnight, 
when  Sornia  with  a  shrouded  lamp  crept  through 
the  long  hall  very  swiftly,  the  wind  of  fear  fanning 
in  her  pale  eyes  the  flame  of  love.  She  came  to  the 
ladder,  went  down  it  stumbling,  and  at  the  bottom 
felt  the  wet  on  her  bare  feet.  "  Pah  !  "  said  she, 
and  drew  back  against  the  ladder ;  but  then  saw 
dimly  the  outline  of  the  cross  and  Gervase  hanging 
there  motionless.  The  rats  scurried  shrieking  into 
corners,  and  some  tried  to  run  up  the  walls  ;  the 
worms  writhed  slowly,  sensing  the  light ;  at  the 
foot   of  the  cross  stood  Sornia,  her  lamp  on  high, 

191 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

and  wept  to  see  the  white  body,  but  wept  silently. 
The  great  tears  chased  each  other  down  her  cheeks. 
**  O  God  in  the  dark,"  she  prayed,  "  save  Gervase, 
and  save  me !  "  She  set  down  the  light,  climbed 
the  steps  of  the  cross,  reached  and  cut  the  bonds  on 
the  boy's  wrists ;  then  as  his  body  fell  forward  on 
to  her  shoulder,  she  stooped  fumbling  at  the  ankle 
ropes  and  cruel  nails  at  the  feet  till  she  had  freed 
them  also.  So  she  brought  him  down,  stiff  and 
cold,  and  for  a  little  while  sat  at  the  cross's  foot 
with  him  on  her  lap,  peering  pitifully  into  the  black 
beyond. 

*  She  had  brought  with  her  a  small  fiat  loaf  and 
pipkin  of  water,  but  found  that  Gervase  was  in  no 
condition  to  receive  of  them.  At  first,  indeed,  she 
feared  that  he  was  dead,  he  seemed  so  heavy  in  her 
arms.  This  made  her  frantic  to  rip  off  her  gown, 
lay  it  on  the  floor,  him  upon  it ;  then  to  listen  with 
her  ear  at  his  heart,  to  feel  with  her  cheek  at  his 
nose,  if  any  pulse  or  breath  of  life  might  be  stirring. 
He  did  live.  She  thanked  God  brokenly,  and 
began  to  chafe  his  limbs.  To  warm  him,  she  had 
to  lie  prone  upon  him  and  cherish  him  with  her 
quick  breath.  By  these  means,  pantingly  employed, 
he  slowly  revived  and  began  to  moan.  Now  she 
could  lift  his  head  up  a  little,  to  take  food  and 
water  without  choking  ;  and  after  a  while  by  patient 
care  on  her  part,  a  little  whimpering,  a  few  tears, 

192 


THE    PRIORESS'   TALE 

he  laid  his  head  down  by  himself  and  fell  deeply 
asleep  in  her  arms.  She  tended  him  as  long  as 
she  dared  let  him  stay  there ;  then,  before  it  was 
light,  got  up,  searched  for  and  found  a  door  in 
the  wall  of  the  vault.  Of  this  she  drew  the  bolts 
one  after  another,  and  opening,  saw  the  river 
darkly  flowing  below  her  with  a  tide  not  yet  at 
the  full  flood-mark.  There,  too,  swung  a  shallop. 
Sornia  swathed  up  Gervase  in  her  gown,  let  herself 
down  into  the  boat,  took  him  after  her,  laid  him 
surely  along  the  bottom.  But  this  was  not  all  she 
had  to  do.  She  must  needs  climb  up  into  the 
vault  again  to  bolt  the  door  as  it  had  been  at 
first.  When  she  rejoined  the  boat  it  was  by  way 
of  the  foreshore,  being  come  at  that  by  a  round- 
about road  through  the  house.  Directly  she  had 
gained  the  shallop  she  cut  herself  adrift,  and  pulled 
up-stream  upon  the  last  of  the  flood. 

*  She  rowed  as  far  as  Wickham  Weirs,  beyond 
which  the  tide  might  not  serve  her.  There  she  ran 
the  boat  aground,  hid  it  in  an  osier  thicket ;  and 
for  the  rest  of  the  way  she  had  set  herself  carried 
Gervase  in  her  arms.  She  struck  over  the  marshes, 
going  as  if  guided  by  an  inner  light.  By  noon, 
fainting  with  the  burden  of  her  love  and  the  burden 
of  the  boy,  she  stumbled  into  a  willow-wood  full  of 
primroses  and  anemones,  and  sat  down  to  look  at 
her  treasure. 

193  N 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

*  Gervase  looked  his  best  asleep.  He  had  very 
long  eyelashes,  and  a  sleek  mouth  which  smiled 
when  he  was  in  repose.  His  hair  was  almost  black, 
his  skin  a  clear  brown,  his  nose  fine  and  straight. 
Awake,  his  grey  eyes  were  too  intelligent  for  such 
smooth  accompaniments ;  they  consorted  oddly 
with  them,  made  him  look  too  shrewd,  shrewder 
than  he  was  or  could  have  been.  Sornia  took  no 
stock  of  this :  she  had  no  need,  for  she  loved  him 
already.  But  she  forced  herself  to  see  the  evidences 
of  his  pain,  the  blue  bruises  on  his  wrists  and 
ankles,  the  swelling  of  the  muscles  about  the 
armpits  and  the  groin,  the  cruel  scabbed  wounds, 
the  scars  left  by  the  thorns.  Cupid  on  the  cross ! 
The  most  lovely  being  in  breath  mangled  like  the 
Nazarene  !  But  she  had  saved  him  for  love,  and 
now  had  him.  Over  and  over  again  she  said  to 
herself,  "  Cupid  on  the  cross  !  Cupid  on  the  cross  ! 
Cupid  in  my  arms — Cupid  on  my  breast !  "  Her 
transports — for  she  had  forgotten  herself — disturbed 
him.  He  half  opened  his  eyes,  stretched  himself 
comfortably  and  turned  about,  looked  up  at  her, 
smiled,  snuggled  down  again,  slept  again.  And 
Sornia,  watching  him,  said,  "  Cupid  is  with  me. 
He  has  been  crucified,  but  I  have  saved  him.  Now 
he  shall  crucify  me." 

'  It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  Gervase  again 
opened  his  eyes,  and  tried,  in  the  most  natural  way 

194 


THE    PRIORESS'   TALE 

possible,  to  stick  his  fists  into  them.  But  this  hurt 
him  horribly  because  of  the  condition  of  his  hands, 
which  he  could  neither  shut  nor  fully  open.  He 
was  too  stiff  to  move,  could  not  stand  up  ;  this  way 
and  that  he  turned,  but  could  get  no  ease.  He 
began  to  fret,  to  grumble  and  whimper,  in  pain  and 
in  anger  at  the  pain.  Sornia  would  have  comforted 
him  if  she  might,  and  herself  by  the  same  act ;  but 
Gervase  would  have  none  of  her  comforting,  neither 
the  soft  words  nor  the  kisses.  Between  his  bouts  of 
crying  he  gaped ;  she  judged  him  hungry ;  night 
was  coming  on  apace — what  could  she  do  for  a 
lodging  ?  Tired  as  she  was,  she  got  up  and  lifted 
him  in  her  arms,  prepared  to  tramp  the  world  till 
she  dropped  if  she  could  win  him  a  harbour. 

*  She  walked  towards  the  sunset,  following  the 
course  of  a  slow  stream  bordered  with  willows. 
This  led  her  in  time  to  a  little  bridge  that  carried 
a  grass  track  over  the  water,  and  on  by  a  turf  dyke 
through  meadows  to  some  clumped  poplars  in  the 
distance.  Here  she  considered  a  hamlet  might  lie, 
and  thither  would  she  go.  She  was  right.  As  she 
drew  near  she  saw  a  church  tower,  some  thatched 
roofs,  cottage  gardens ;  here  would  be  food  for 
Gervase  if  she  dare  ask  it !  Woe  to  her !  she 
knew  that  she  must  share  her  treasure  with  others 
for  the  treasure's  sake,  and  because  her  worn  arms 
refused  a  longer  burden.     In   the  falling  dusk  she 

195 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

staggered  to  the  first  door  she  reached,  knocked, 
and  fell  down  in  a  heap  before  it,  Gervase  limp  on 
her  knees.  A  little  girl,  half  naked,  tanned,  blue- 
eyed,  with  hair  like  a  sheet  of  yellow  floss,  opened 
the  door  and  gaped  at  her  with  lips  apart.  "  Help, 
for  God's  love,"  said  Sornia,  **  or  my  brother  will 
die."  What  faint  old  shame  kept  the  name  of  son 
from  her,  I  know  not.  But  "  brother "  she  called 
him  in  her  extremity  and  did  herself  a  bad  turn  in 
the  end. 

'  The  child  at  the  door  faltered,  and  turning  half, 
called,  "  Mother,  mother  !  "  twice.  A  stout  woman 
came  clattering  out.  "  Powers  of  light,  what's 
this  ?  "  quoth  she,  and  clapped-to  her  mouth.  But 
Sornia  had  that  to  say  which  quickened  her 
motherly  blood.  "  My  brother  has  been  crucified 
by  the  Jews,  but  I  have  snatched  him  from  the  cross 
alive.     Save  him  and  save  me." 

' "  Come  you  in,  good  soul,"  said  the  woman 
urgently.  **  You  shall  live  to  make  a  joyful  Easter 
yet.  Come  you  in.  Persilla,  little  slut,  set  milk  on 
the  fire.  Thank  my  Saviour  there's  food  a  plenty." 
The  two  wayfarers  were  put  to  bed. 

*  Gervase  made  a  quick  recovery.  In  a  week  he 
was  hobbling  out  and  about,  beyond  Sornia's 
control,  save  only  at  night,  when  he  slept  in  her 
bed  and  seemed  to  be  vnder  her  spell.  In  a  fort- 
night he  had  fought  all  the  boys  of  consideration  in 

ig6 


THE   PRIORESS'  TALE 

the  village,  earned  a  secure  position,  and  was 
Persilla's  avowed  lover  and  slave.  This  fine  little 
person  treated  him  with  an  entire  contempt,  which 
made  the  lad's  case  the  more  desperate,  Gervase 
would  have  let  her  bare  foot  tread  upon  his  neck  if 
she  would  have  condescended  so  far  as  to  touch 
him.  But  Persilla  went  about  her  daily  affairs 
without  notice  of  him,  and  the  persistent  lover 
dogged  her  footsteps,  and  hung  wistfully  at 
a  distance  for  a  chance  sight  of  her  blue  eyes. 
Dogging  Gervase  in  turn  was  ever  Sornia,  the 
hungry  Jewess,  spying  after  the  son  she  had  risked 
so  much  to  win,  tormented  by  the  pain  in  her  heart 
which  told  her  that  if  this  boy  could  so  lightly 
forget  his  mother  after  the  flesh,  it  was  certain  he 
would  have  no  long  thought  for  her,  his  mother  by 
sacrifice.  True  enough  she  knew  her  words  to  have 
been.  The  Jews  had  crucified  Gervase,  but  now 
Gervase  would  crucify  her. 

*  At  night,  and  then  only,  she  had  a  force  within 
her  which  quelled  the  heedless  boy  and  laid  him  at 
her  mercy.  When  it  was  quite  dark,  and  all  the 
house  asleep,  Gervase,  sitting  moody  on  his  bed, 
would  sigh.  Then  Sornia  would  say,  "  Sing, 
Gervase ;  "  and  he,  obedient,  would  sing  to  her 
softly,  church  music,  which  she  understood  even  less 
than  he,  but  which,  nevertheless,  some  right  instinct 
taught   her   to   select    harmoniously   to    her    mood. 

197 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

JesUy  diilcis  memoria,  was  a  great  favourite  with  her, 
always  the  call  for  the  commencement  of  her  single 
joy.     As  Gervase  sang — 

'  "  Jesum  quaeram  in  lectulo, 
Clauso  cordis  cubiculo: 
Privatim  et  in  populo 
Quseram  amore  sedulo  " — 

she  would  draw  nearer  to  him  and  put  her  arm 
about  his  neck.     At  the  words — 

'  "  Desidero  te  millies, 

Mi  Jesu  :  quando  venies  ?  " 

this  poor  blind  fool  would  hold  him  closer  yet ;  and 
at  the  last  strain — 

'  "  Tunc  amplexus,  tunc  oscula 
Quae  vincunt  meilis  pocula  : 
Quam  felix  Christi  copula  !  " 

she  made  him  utterly  her  own.  She  would  say  in 
his  ear,  "  By  day  I  have  no  power ;  but  by  night 
I  make  you  need  me.  Before  your  passion  you 
called  for  me.  When  you  hung  upon  the  cross  you 
waited  for  me,  and  I  came.  Now,  Gervase,  you 
need  me  again.     Is  it  not  so  ?  " 

*  "  I  don't  know,  Sornia,"  he  would  reply,  and 
speak  the  words  low.     "  I  feel  tired." 

'  She  would  say,  "  Lie  down,"  and  this  he  would 
do  without  a  word.  She,  leaning  over  him,  would 
mother  and  cherish  him,  saying  soft  quick  words, 

198 


THE    PRIORESS'   TALE 

her  bosom  against  his  cheek.  **  My  lamb,  my  boy, 
my  Gervase !  "  thus  she  would  hotly  whisper — "  Oh, 
love  me  a  Httle,  my  lamb  !  "  And  Gervase,  hushed 
and  wondering,  would  answer  back,  **  Yes,  Sornia." 
"  Wilt  thou  kiss  me  now,  Gervase  ?  "  she  would  ask 
with  pride,  and  he  say  again,  "  Yes,  Sornia." 
At  this,  as  she  urged  towards  him,  looking  up  at 
her,  he  would  kiss  her  softly  three  or  four  times, 
after  that  call  her  mother  as  often  as  she  chose  to 
ask  it ;  and  her  poor  drained  heart  seemed  never  full 
of  the  folly.  But  next  morning  he  would  have 
nothing  to  say  to  her ;  nor  did  she  attempt  to  stop 
him  when  he  got  up  with  the  first  light,  shook 
himself,  and  left  her  lying,  to  go  out  (as  she  knew 
very  well)  and  spread  his  heart  to  be  trashed  by 
Persilla's  bare  feet. 

'  For  some  weeks  she  lived  this  double  life,  of 
torture  by  day,  when  Gervase  strayed  after  gold- 
haired  Persilla,  and  of  uneasy  rapture  by  night,  when 
she  hushed  the  young  boy  to  sleep  in  her  close  arms. 
Her  pure  joy  was  only  in  the  sound  of  his  voice 
singing.  She  strained  her  ear  to  follow  the  sense  of 
the  great  open  vowels,  the  pounding  rhymes  of 
triumph,  or  those  which  hang  back,  as  if  reluctant 
to  leave  the  lips.  She  knew  when  he  sang  of  Mary 
and  her  Holy  Child,  when  of  the  dolours  of  the  Cross, 
when  of  the  Angel  with  a  trumpet,  of  the  Last  Day, 
of  the  far  fields  of  Heaven.     You  and  I  know  these 

199 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

things  by  precept  and  inheritance  ;  but  she  must 
have  had  the  root  of  music  in  her,  for  while  Gervase 
was  singing  his  heart  out,  fired  by  his  own  art,  she 
could  conceive  of  no  power  in  the  world  to  withstand 
him,  of  no  law  of  God  which  could  gainsay  the 
truths  so  gloriously  made  manifest.  If  some  such 
voice  as  this — so  she  would  dream — should  speak 
the  faith  of  her  people  out  of  the  dark,  what  ruling 
tyranny  of  bishops  or  civil  lords  might  abide  it  ? 
Surely,  surely  in  that  guise — as  a  rapt  boy  singing 
— should  come  the  King  who  was  to  come !  And 
Gervase  ?  Was  he  not  a  king  ?  Had  he  not  been 
hailed  a  king  by  right  of  this  royal  property  of  his  ? 
King  of  her  she  knew  him  ;  and  if  of  her,  should  he 
not  be  a  king  in  Jewry  ?  Remembering  the  con- 
sternation wrought  by  his  singing  at  Plessy,  she 
pondered  this  and  other  things  night  after  night. 

*  She  got  everything  out  of  him  in  the  dark,  even 
his  devotion  to  Persilla.  She  was  desperately 
curious  about  this ;  but  jealous  as  she  knew  herself 
to  be,  to  the  point  of  venomous  hatred  of  the  child, 
she  did  not  seek^-as  yet — to  make  Gervase  deny  her. 
Perhaps  she  feared  that  this  might  be  above  her 
force  ;  at  any  rate  she  contented  herself  with  probing 
the  hurt  it  gave.  Gervase  owned  to  considering 
Persilla  "  in  a  different  way  ;  "  he  thought  her  of 
different  stuff  from  his  own  flesh  ;  her  texture  was 
that   of    angels ;    he   spoke   of    her   in    a   whisper. 

200 


THE   PRIORESS'   TALE 

Persilla  could  not,  he  said,  be  supposed  to  love  him  ; 
the  thought  was  foolishness.  Some  day  he  might  do 
that  which  would  move  her  to  pity  him,  and  then — 
and  then — here  he  sighed.  His  devotion  to  the 
little  peasant  had  aged  him ;  it  had  given  a  mannish 
reserve  to  his  eyes,  perhaps  pushed  the  down  on  his 
chin.  If  these  achievements  were  in  him,  they  were 
Persilla's  doing ;  neither  the  work  of  the  night  of 
torment,  nor  of  Sornia  the  childless  woman.  So 
much  Sornia  owned  to,  and  was  driven  back  on  the 
only  comfort  she  had ;  this,  namely,  that  Gervase 
was  still  boy  and  not  man.  He  had  no  thought  of 
Persilla  which  was  not  exalted  ;  she  had  taught  him 
to  feed  on  air  and  relish  no  other  food.  Persilla  (he 
told  Sornia)  was  a  girl  of  station.  Gervase  knew  quite 
well  what  was  due  to  her,  what  to  himself,  what  to 
the  providence  of  Heaven  which  had  blazed  upon 
him  the  miracle  she  was.  Great  deeds  must  be  done, 
giants  fought,  or  perhaps  dragons  and  other  baleful 
worms  ;  long  pains  must  be  met  and  overcome,  to 
which  his  late  experience  in  Jewry  was  but  the  prelude ; 
there  must  be  sea  voyages,  he  supposed ;  perilous 
journeyings  in  desert  places,  forest  nights  and  days  ; 
these,  with  many  more  undertakings  of  the  sort, 
might  suffice  him  for  a  kiss  of  Persilla's  fingers.  To 
win  more  than  this,  or  ask  more,  was  a  thing  not 
safely  to  be  thought  of;  no  honourable  lover  went 
further.     Sornia's  love,  not  at  all  of  this  kind,  bade 

201 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

her  be  comforted.     She  was  able  to  relinquish  her 
claims  by  day  with  a  better  grace, 

'  Torment  came  quickly  from  another  quarter  :  no 
rest  for  the  likes  of  Sornia.  News  of  hue  and  cry 
after  Gervase  was  brought  in  by  Persilla's  father,  who 
had  been  to  Dunham  Market  and  heard  strange  tales 
from  Plessy,  how  Jews  were  in  prison,  and  people 
hunting  for  the  lad  high  and  low.  "  Go  you  home, 
my  woman,"  said  he  to  Sornia,  "comfort  your 
mother  and  father,  as  right  is.  If  they  think  to  have 
lost  son  and  daughter  at  once,  it  is  a  grievous  thing, 
and  if  kept  awake  by  your  doing,  a  sinful  thing. 
Fear  nothing  of  the  Jews,  for  Plessy  jail  is 
a  wondrous  soother  of  wicked  desires.  Go  you  home 
to  your  mother,  my  woman,  and  take  the  lad  with 
you."  If  Sornia  was  to  keep  this  new  child  she  had 
dared  so  much  to  win,  something  she  must  do  and 
soon  ;  but  what  under  the  sky?  Here  you  have  her 
between  the  prongs  of  a  fork.  If  she  hid  Gervase 
with  her  in  the  fens,  sooner  or  later  as  he  grew  to  be 
man,  he  would  find  Persilla  by  the  leading  of  desire; 
if  she  took  him  home  to  Plessy,  he  would  be  his 
blood-mother's  by  right  of  the  womb  and  the  pap. 
One  way  or  another,  the  flesh  must  have  him  and 
she  go  bare.  As  she  peered  miserably  after  her  fate 
in  the  dark,  she  wondered,  is  there  no  other  title  to 
another's  soul?  Are  flesh-bonds  all?  No,  no. 
There  is  one  other  :  the  church-bond.     What  if  she 

202 


THE    PRIORESS'   TALE 

by  virtue  of  the  power  over  Gervase  she  had,  the 
power  of  one  who  works  by  night,  took  him  back  to 
Plessy,  to  her  own  people,  made  him  of  the  Covenant, 
got  him  owned  for  king  ?  Agonising  alone  in  the 
daytime,  she  leapt  after  that  night-thought,  and  saw 
her  safety  there. 

'  By  night  Gervase  was  still  hers.  Every  night  he 
lay  rapt  in  her  arms,  hers  in  life  and  death  and 
earthly  member.  He  kissed  her  as  she  bid  him,  or  lay 
still,  called  her  mother  and  mother  again,  answered 
all  her  questions,  promised  her  all  obedience — and 
did  it — or  sang  to  her  without  end  with  a  voice  that 
never  seemed  to  tire.  So  after  Vexilla  regis  prodeimt, 
which  ravished  her  quite  by  its  triumphant  notes, 
that  same  night  she  spoke  to  him,  asking,  "  Art  thou 
my  own  son,  Gervase  ? "  And  he  said,  "  Yes, 
Sornia." 

*  "  Thou  carest  nothing  for  thy  mother  at 
Plessy  ?  " 

*  Says  he,  "  You  say  you  are  my  mother  now." 

*  She  felt  the  sting  of  her  own  he,  knowing  very 
well  that  the  great  testimony  of  motherhood  was  not 
in  her  bestowal,  since  she  could  not  let  him  go. 
But  she  asked  again,  "  There  is  no  love  in  thee  now 
for  little  Persilla  ?  " 

*  He  said,  with  a  catch  in  his  throat,  "  Not  by 
night,  oh,  not  by  night  !  Persilla  is  different.  She 
is  of  the  day,  but  thou  of  the  night,  Sornia." 

203 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 


( (( 


Yes,  yes,  I  know  it,"  she  said  hardly ;  **  I  am  of 
the  night  and  work  in  the  night.  So  I  wrought  for 
thee  when  I  saved  thee  from  the  cross,  and  so 
now  when  I  seek  to  save  myself  from  it."  She 
hugged  him  close.  "  O  Gervase,  O  Gervase,"  she 
whispered  to  him,  "wilt  thou  do  my  will  ?  " 

*  He  murmured  faintly,  "  If  it  be  lawful,  Sornia." 
*"Eh,"   she    said,    "it   is    above    the    law.     All 

things  shall  be  lawful  to  thee  if  I  have  my  way." 

' "  What  is  your  way  ?  "  asks  Gervase  ;  and  she 
told  him,  "  It  is  the  way  of  kingship.'* 

*  "  Kingship  ?  "  says  he. 

* "  Kingship,"  says  she.  "  I  desire  thee  to  be 
king  of  the  Jews."     Gervase  laughed,  ill  at  case. 

*  "  Oh,"  says  he,  "  that  is  a  strange  thing  to  be." 

*  "  It  is  a  very  easy  thing  for  thee,  my  lamb,"  she 
said,  "if  thou  wilt  do  my  bidding,  and  be  subject  to 
me  in  all  things.  And  first,  we  must  leave  soon, 
and  by  night." 

*  Gervase  said  nothing  for  awhile,  and  even  while 
she  urged  him  would  not  declare  for  or  against  her 
wishes.  For  this  Sornia  cared  very  little,  since  she 
intended  to  go  by  night.  She  knew  he  would  go 
with  her  at  that  season  ;  and  Gervase  knew  that  he 
would  have  to  go.  Next  morning  she  saw  him 
follow  Persilla  into  the  fields  after  the  cows ;  she  saw 
them  talk  with  their  heads  close  together ;  after 
that,   as    she   fancied,    the    girl   was    gentler   with 

20^ 


THE   PRIORESS'   TALE 

Gervase,  and  more  subdued  at  home.  How  this 
might  or  might  not  be  she  cared  little  ;  the  prospect 
tempted  her  to  be  contented  at  last.  She  fixed  her 
night  for  going  at  about  the  sixth  week  after  the 
passion  of  Gervase ;  and  before  she  went  sent 
a  message  to  one  in  Plessy  whom  she  could  trust, 
that  all  the  Jews  where  to  be  in  the  synagogue  on 
a  certain  evening  named,  to  see  what  they  should 
see,  what  they  had  hoped  for,  but  had  grown  faint 
to  expect.  Then,  the  day  before  she  must  set  out, 
she  hid  herself  behind  a  dyke,  and  watched  Gervase 
take  leave  of  Persilla  in  the  open  field.  She  could 
not  hear  what  was  said,  but  after  a  little  she  saw 
Gervase  spring  forward  and  snatch  at  the  hem  of 
Persilla's  smock  to  kiss  it.  Then  also  she  saw 
Persilla  snatch  it  back  again,  and  Gervase  look 
wretched,  and  go,  leaving  her  alone.  She  watched 
the  girl  sit  plucking  the  grass,  saw  her  tears  fall. 
"  Let  her  cry,"  said  Sornia  to  herself.  "  What  else 
have  I  done  all  my  days  but  pray  for  tears  ?  " 

*  Gervase  had  said  to  Persilla,  "  I  must  go  away 
to-night." 

'  She  said,  "  Well  ?  " 

*  His  eyes  flickered.  "  It  shall  be  well.  When 
you  see  me  again,  Persilla,  you  will  think  better  of 
me  than  now  you  do." 

'  "  May  be,"  she  said. 

* "  I  go  to  Plessy,"  says  Gervase ;  and,  finding  her 
cold,  "you  shall  hear  of  me  there." 

^05 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

*  **  May  be,"  said  Persilla  again. 

' "  But  whatever  I  do,  however  honestly  or 
greatly,"  says  Gervase,  "  wit  you  well,  Persilla,  it 
shall  be  done  for  the  love  of  you." 

* "  How  shall  I  know  that  ?  "  she  asked  him. 

' "  Why,  thus,"  says  Gervase,  and  caught  her 
gown  from  her  fingers,  and  kissed  the  hem  of  it. 
She  whipt  it  back  again,  but  never  looked  at  him. 
Gervase,  after  a  time  of  fond  irresolution,  lip- 
wetting  and  such  like,  threw  up  his  head,  looking 
mannish.  "  Fare  you  well,  Persilla,"  he  said 
huskily.  "  I  love  you,  but  choose  not  to  speak 
of  that  until  I  can  prove  my  words."  Still  she 
would  not  look  at  him,  but  rather  at  her  fingers 
fiddling  with  the  smock's  edge. 

* "  Fare  you  well,  Persilla,"  he  said  again. 

*"  Good-bye,  Gervase,"  said  she.  When  he  was 
gone  she  sat  lonely  in  the  field  and  began  to  cry. 
Oh,  sex  of  mine,  so  foolish  and  so  fond ! 

'  He  went  away  meekly  in  the  night  with  Sornia; 
who  brought  him  into  Plessy  by  water  as  he  had 
gone  out.  He  met  once  more  the  horrid  wetness  of 
the  vault  where  the  Jews  had  tortured  him  ;  and 
here  he  must  bide  till  the  next  day  with  such 
comfort  as  Sornia  could  give  him.  As  she  bid  him, 
he  helped  her  to  remove  the  flag-stone  which  gave 
on  to  the  upper  room  ;  and  he  had  no  misgivings, 
but  rather  seemed  in  an  apathy,  until  late  in  the 
evening  of  the  day  when   he   heard  overhead   the 

206 


THE    PRIORESS'   TALE 

trampling  of  many  feet,  and  a  shuffling  (as  of 
innumerable  slippers)  on  the  pavement,  so  guessed 
that  the  scene  of  his  old  suffering  was  filling  again. 
Then  he  turned  suddenly  and  caught  at  Sornia's 
breast.  "  Oh,  Sornia  !  "  he  said,  breathless,  "  not 
again,  please,  not  again  !  "  She  kissed  him  fondly. 
"  My  lamb,  my  lamb,"  she  assured  him,  "  trust  me. 
It  will  be  vastly  different  now.  Trust  me,  Gervase. 
I  have  never  failed  you  yet.  Do  all  that  I  tell  you 
from  point  to  point,  and  the  cup  of  your  honour  will 
be  full.  Will  you  do  it,  my  lamb  ?  I  ask  of  you  but 
a  little  thing."  It  was  dark  in  the  vault,  the  night 
was  upon  him  and  the  spell  of  Sornia's  power,  but 
as  from  a  little  ray  of  light  came  a  day-thought  to 
him.  "  For  the  love  of  Persilla  !  "  it  was  ;  so  Gervase 
looked  up,  saying,  "  Do  your  pleasure,  Sornia." 
The  room  above  was  all  hushed.  Sornia  stripped 
him  of  his  clothes,  and  made  him  put  on  the  red 
robe  and  white  girdle  he  had  worn  before.  "  Follow 
me,"  she  said  then,  and  went  up  the  ladder  into 
the  apse  of  the  hall.  Great  drawn  curtains  hid 
them  from  what  was  beyond  ;  the  hush  held  all ; 
yet  Gervase's  heart  beat  high,  and  Sornia  heard  it 
thudding.  She  put  her  linger  to  her  lip  as  if  to 
stay  even  that  muffled  sound.     Presently  then, 

*  "  Sing,  Gervase,"  said  she. 

*  Out  of  that  empty  place,  towards  the  breathless 
company,    whose    faces,    whose    numbers,     whose 

207 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

expectancy  he  knew  nothing  of,  the  voice  of  Gervase 
poured  rich  and  fast  as  the  honey-gouts  from 
a  nightingale's  throat,  the  flood  of  sound,  the 
gathered  strength,  the  terror  and  the  boding  of 
Dies  Ires ;  and  all  the  Jews  scuttled  together  like 
rabbits  in  a  close,  and  gripped  at  each  other  by  the 
cloak. 

'  "  Dies  irse,  dies  ilia, 

Solvet  sseclum   in  favilla, 

Teste  David  cum  Sibylla," 

sang   the  boy,  with   the  voice   of  women   hurt  by 

a    sword  ;   and    pausing    (as    he    had    been    taught) 

before  the  third  stave,  let  loose  for  that  a  hollow, 

fluting  and  lonely  note,   like  a   clarion  that  warns 

a  valley  from  the  hill-top — 

'  "  Tuba  mirum  spargens  sonum 
Per  sepulchra  regionum, 
Coget  omnes  ante  thronum" — 

under  which  the  Jews  lay  prone  and  still.  But 
they  shuddered  and  smote  their  foreheads  at  the 
wailing  of  Quid  sum  miser;  and  to  the  sweet 
cajolery  of 

'  "  Recordare,  Jesu  pie, 

Quod  sum  causa  tuae  viae; 

Ne  me  perdas  ilia  die" — 

they  lifted  up  their  arms  with  one  accord,  and  all 
their  anguish  and  apprehension  escaped  in  the 
flutter  of  a  long  sigh. 

208 


THE    PRIORESS'   TALE 

'  Gervase  sang  the  great  hymn  Hke  one  inspired 
from  Heaven.  The  Ingemisco,  the  terrible  Confu- 
tatis,  Oro  stipplex  the  pitiful,  the  Lacrymosa,  which 
would  have  melted  a  mountain  of  ice — all  the 
great  hymn  down  to  the  prayer  of  Hiiic  ergo,  where 
it  ends  in  the  whisper  of  contented  faith,  Dona  eis 
requiem  !  he  sang :  and  at  this  calm  close  Sornia 
went  swiftly  to  the  heavy  curtains  and  pulled  them 
apart  with  a  fierce  gesture.  There  they  saw 
Gervase  in  his  red  robe,  standing  erect  and  clear  ; 
saw  him,  knew  him,  and  remembered. 

' "  You  Jews,"  said  Sornia,  biting  the  words, 
"  look  upon  him  whom  you  pierced,  who  has  now 
pierced  you  by  means  of  that  deathless  part  he  has 
— and  answer  me  now.  Will  you  own  him  for  your 
king?" 

*  But  the  Jews  seemed  not  to  hear  her,  but  they 
rather  huddled  together  like  sheep,  not  moving  their 
eyes  off  Gervase,  who  stood  lightly  there,  obedient, 
easily  disposed,  ready  to  sing  again,  assured.  At 
a  sign  from  Sornia  he  began  a  new  song,  lifting  up 
his  head  like  one  glorying  in  thought  and  music 
together :  "  Salve,  caput  cruentatum,"  it  was  ;  and  the 
Jews  trembled.  Some  shook  their  heads,  with 
hands  held  up  to  deprecate,  and  some  rocked  about 
because  they  could  not  weep,  and  some  lay  still  on 
the  floor,  cowering  before  a  vision  of  the  Last 
Things.      Once  more  he  sang — that  old  sequence 

209  o 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

which  begins,  Ecce  sacerdos  magnus ;  but  Sornia 
stopped  him  in  the  middle,  because  she  saw  that 
red  Malachi  was  prepared  to  speak  and  because  she 
wished  to  give  him  something  to  speak  of.  The 
hour  of  her  triumph  was  at  hand,  the  wine  of  it 
thrilled  her  voice,  lit  her  pale  eyes. 

' "  O  Jews,"  she  cried  out,  "  behold  your  king, 
who  has  overcome  death  and  you  together.  Bind 
him  king  unto  you  by  a  crown  instead  of  a  cross, 
and  yourselves  unto  him  by  the  Covenant.  Bring 
the  knife  and  the  napkin,  for  he  is  content  to  obey 
the  Law,  that  you  may  know  he  is  above  the  Law." 
Malachi  was  crawling  along  the  floor  on  his  hands 
and  knees,  while  all  the  others  watched  him.  He 
crept  so  up  to  Gervase,  and  touched  his  hands  and 
feet  where  the  white  scars  shone.  Then  he  turned 
suddenly  with  a  shout,  and  leaped  back  into  the 
body  of  the  hall,  which  surged  about  him,  alive  with 
men.  "  Listen,  O  you  people  !  "  he  raved,  hoarse 
as  a  hog,  "  this  is  a  true  thing,  we  have  proved  it 
true,  by  which  all  hangs,  the  doctrine  and  the  hope, 
the  faith  and  the  baptism  and  means  of  defence. 
Go  you  up,  touch  him  and  see.  We  gloried  in  him, 
we  saw  him  lovely  and  without  spot.  Yet  we  dared 
to  try  him,  hang  him  up,  leave  him  to  die.  Oh, 
impiety  of  our  unbelief!  Oh,  unregenerate  still! 
But  he  was  content  to  suffer,  he  was  meek,  he  hung 
and  he  died  ;  and  now  is  come  again  more  glorious 

210 


THE   PRIORESS'   TALE 

than  before,  with  the  marks  of  his  torment  gleaming 
like  stars.  See,  try,  probe  for  yourselves,  and  then 
follow  me,  and  confess  him  for  king," 

'  Sornia  laughed  from  a  full  throat.  "  Are  you 
satisfied  at  last,  O  Malachi  ?  "  she  asked ;  and 
Malachi  said  awfully,  "  I  am  satisfied.  Now  I  shall 
become  a  Christian  man."  So  said  all  the  Jews 
with  tears.  They  flocked  about  Gervase,  hailing 
him  as  king ;  then  with  one  consent  ran  clamorous 
through  Plessy  to  the  house  of  the  Bishop.  Sornia 
sat  alone  on  the  floor  of  the  synagogue,  Gervase 
beside  her :  but  she  could  get  no  speech  out  of  him, 
and  her  power  seemed  to  be  going,  though  it  was 
still  night. 

'  To  the  great  concourse  of  Jews,  "  How  is  this, 
dogs  ?  "  said  the  Bishop,  very  cross. 

*  *'  My  lord,"  said  Malachi,  "  if  you  please,  there 
are  no  dogs  left  in  Plessy.  We  have  seen  with  our 
proper  eyes  the  truth  of  what  your  religion  reports. 
To-morrow  you  shall  baptize  us  all.  Jewry  is 
emptied  of  unbelief.' 

' "  By  no  means  to-morrow,"  said  the  Bishop, 
**  but  on  the  day  of  Pentecost,  a  fitting  day  for  this 
holy  business.  But  first  I  will  hear  the  grounds  of 
so  pious  an  act." 

'When  he  had  heard  it,  he  was  greatly  astonished. 
He  sent  for  Gervase  at  once,  to  be  lodged  with  him 
in  his  house  and  not  seen  of  any  until  the  rite  was 

211 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

done.  He  sent  word  to  Monthermer,  to  Gervase's 
parents,  to  all  others  concerned.  He  made  full 
preparations  for  this  great  and  wonderful  baptism, 
believing  with  Malachi  that  by  its  means  he  would 
empty  Jewry.  Yet  with  Malachi  he  was  wrong. 
There  was  one  Jew  left :  Sornia,  with  a  gnawed 
heart,  childless  as  at  first,  hopeless,  quite  alone ; 
Sornia,  who  had  supposed  tliat  love  asked  again  of 
the  beloved. 


*  On  the  day  of  Pentecost  following,  after  the 
solemn  Missa  de  Spiritu  Sancto,  sung  by  the  Bishop 
of  Plessy  himself,  there  stood  up  Gervase  in  the 
sanctuary,  vested  like  a  bishop  in  a  white  silk  cope 
and  mitre,  holding  a  pastoral  staff,  upon  the  fore- 
finger of  his  right  hand  a  blue  ring.  But  his  hands 
had  no  gloves,  nor  were  there  any  slippers  on  his 
scarred  feet.  King  of  the  Jews^  the  Jews  of  Plessy 
confessed  him,  weeping  and  laughing  at  once  as  they 
knelt  at  his  knee.  His  first  kingly  act  was  to  order 
that  the  gates  of  Jewry  should  be  cast  down  and 
burned — and  this  was  shortly  done.  Sornia,  too, 
was  in  the  church,  who  neither  laughed  nor  could 
weep,  but  felt  the  knife  griding  in  her  heart,  and 
knew  now  the  depth  and  height  of  her  tragic  folly. 
She  had  feared  the  mother  of  Gervase,  and  the 
desire  of  Gervase ;  she  had  esteemed  the  Church- 

212 


THE    PRIORESS'   TALE 

bond  a  light  thing  and  measured  strength  with  that. 
Now  she  knew  how  hght  it  was. 

*  When  all  the  Jews  had  been  baptized,  at  the 
going-out  from  church  in  pompous  procession  there 
was  seen  a  little  shrinking  brown-faced  girl  with  hair 
like  a  gold  sheet  over  her  back.  She  was  clad  in 
a  coarse  cotton  shift  such  as  country  children  wear, 
and  had  bare  brown  legs  and  arms.  It  so  happened 
that  she  stood  on  the  edge  of  the  crowd  hard  by 
Sornia,  who  was  deeply  hooded.  Seeing  her  as  he 
passed,  Gervase  (for  all  his  stiff  sacro-sanctity)  stood 
still.  Sornia  saw  his  mouth  twitch,  heard  what  he 
said,  though  he  whispered  it  below  his  breath.  She 
went  by  the  shaping  of  his  lips :  "  Oh,  Persilla !  " 
was  all ;  and  then  he  was  pushed  on  in  procession. 
Persilla  limped  after  him,  holding  her  rags  over  her 
neck.  One  of  her  feet  had  been  cut  by  a  stone,  and 
bled  as  she  went.  Afterwards  Sornia  saw  her 
crouched  against  the  great  steps  of  the  Bishop's 
house,  on  the  ground,  by  the  lowest  step  of  all. 
The  child  was  looking  at  her  hurt  foot ;  and  some 
venom  in  the  galled  woman  prompted  her  to  draw 
near  when  no  one  else  was  by. 

*  "  Ah,  Persilla,  do  you  bleed  for  him  whom  you 
scorned  ?  "  she  said.  "  So  do  I  bleed,  who  saved, 
never  scorned  him." 

*  Persilla  lifted  her  young  head. 

* "  I    never    scorned    Gervase,"     she    said.       "  I 

213 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

loved   him.     He    knows    that   now.      He   saw   me 
here." 

'  "  How  will  that  help  you,  little  fool,"  cried  the 
other,  "  when  the  Church  has  him  fast  ?  " 

**'I  don't  understand  you,"  said  Persilla,  "He 
is  made  glorious.  They  will  make  him  a  saint,  and 
I  shall  be  happy,  because  I  love  him." 

* "  Do  you  call  that  love  ?  "  asked  Sornia. 

* "  I  don't  know,"  said  Persilla.  Sornia  dragged 
herself  away,  and  sat  on  a  doorstep  to  watch  the 
Bishop's  house.  While  she  was  there,  a  man  and 
woman  passed  by  her,  their  children,  three 
grown  daughters  and  two  young  boys,  with  them. 
The  woman  was  highly  exalted,  speaking  very 
fast. 

* "  I  tell  you,  master,  I  give  him  gladly !  "  she 
cried.  "  What  honour  to  our  name  !  What  honour 
to  this  old  bosom  of  mine,  to  have  suckled  a  saint ! 
Never  talk  to  me  of  my  title,  my  claim  !  Our 
Gervase  a  Saint  of  the  Church  !  Glory  and  thanks 
be  to  God  my  Saviour,  I  say.  And  so  should  you 
say,  master,  or  it  is  to  your  shame." 

*  The  man  grunted,  but  the  woman's  voice  flew 
behind  her  in  a  streamer  of  pride  as  the  party  went 
their  ways  to  the  Bishop's  house.  Sornia  knew 
them  for  the  father  and  mother  of  Gervase.  So  his 
parents  gave  thanks,  his  sweetheart  gave  thanks  for 
the  Church's  robbery  ?     But  Sornia  had  no  thanks 

214 


THE   PRIORESS'  TALE 

to  give ;  but  tasted  the  salt  as  it  surged  up  into  her 
mouth. 

*At  a  conclave  held  after  dinner  the  Bishop  gave  it 
as  his  opinion,  that  Gervase  was  holy  de  substantia, 
as  good  as  canonized  already.  "  For,"  said  he,  "  if 
a  young  boy,  mero  motti  ejus,  can  turn  the  wicked 
hearts  of  so  many  Jews,  what  might  he  not  turn 
when  he  should  be  fortified  by  age,  by  holy  living, 
and  the  prayers  of  all  the  faithful  in  communion 
with  the  Faith  ? "  There  was  no  answer  to  this. 
He  went  on  to  say,  that  it  behoved  the  Church  to 
keep  Gervase,  as  to  the  accidents  (if  so  he  might 
put  it),  apart  from  defilement.  In  his  judgment, 
he  should  inhabit  the  hermit's  cell  by  the  Chapel 
on  Lene  Bridge — there  are  two  such  cells  on  the 
bridge,  but  that  by  the  Chapel  is  much  the  larger — 
to  be  a  living  light  and  ensample  to  all  Christians, 
and  to  all  Jews,  if  there  should  be  any  more. 
Pilgrims  would  come  from  many  lands,  much 
edification  ensue.  To  this  the  Mayor,  having  the 
advantage  of  the  town  steadfastly  before  his  eyes, 
gladly  consented;  adding,  that  the  Commonalty, 
out  of  the  town  chest,  would  repair  and  make 
habitable  that  hermitage,  which  had  been  long — 
too  long — neglected.  Meantime  he  submitted  to 
his  Grace,  whether  Gervase  should  not  be  in  the 
Sacrist's  lodging  in  the  Cathedral  Close  ? 

* "  He  shall  live  with  me,"  cried  the  Bishop, 
"  my  honoured  guest !  " 

215 


NEW   CANTERBURY  TALES 

*So  it  was  arranged;  and  the  parents,  the  brothers 
and  sisters  of  Gervase  were  allowed  to  kiss  him 
if  they  would.  His  father  would  not,  it  appears ; 
but  his  mother  kissed  his  hand,  not  being  worthy 
(as  she  declared)  of  nearer  approach ;  and  his 
brothers  and  sisters,  one  by  one,  knelt  before  him, 
as  Gervase  laid  his  hand  upon  their  heads  in  turn. 
After  this  ceremony,  performed  as  it  was  with  great 
dignity,  the  company  dispersed ;  and  the  girl  and 
the  woman,  Persilla  and  Sornia,  were  left  with 
the  street  to  themselves.  There  they  sat  apart 
while  the  dusk  gathered  about  them. 

*  Very  late  in  the  evening,  the  Bishop's  door 
opened,  and  Gervase  looking  tall,  apparelled  all 
in  white,  came  out  on  to  the  steps.  Persilla  looked 
up  but  did  not  move.  Sornia  watched  from  across 
the  way. 

*  "  Persilla,"  said  the  boy. 
• "  Yes,  Gervase." 

'  "  I  am  worthy  of  you  now." 
'  "  O  Gervase !  "     She  got  up  and  went  towards 
him.     His  finger  touched  his  lip. 

*  "  Hush,  my  dear.  I  may  not  love  you  now. 
But  you  may  love  me."  Persilla  held  up  her  arms 
to  him. 

*  **  I  do  love  you,  oh,  I  do  !  I  always  loved  you !  " 
she  cried  with  sobs. 

* "  Then  do  my  will,"  said  Gervase.  "  I  am  to 
live  in  the  chapel  hermitage  on  Lenc  Bridge.     Do 

216 


THE    PRIORESS'   TALE 

you  live  in  the  other  and  be  a  saint  like  me.  We 
may  love  safely  then  ;  for  we  shall  each  be  holy. 
Will  you  do  this,  Persilla,  in  God's  name  ?  " 

*  "  Yes,  Gervase,"  said  Persilla  ;  "  but  once  you 
shall  kiss  me."     He  drew  back. 

' "  Oh,  no,"  he  said,  "  I  dare  not.  It  would  be 
a  sin." 

*  So  then  she  turned  away  her  head,  and  immedi- 
ately he  was  down  the  steps  to  her  level,  close  to 
her,  and  had  her  small  face  cupped  in  his  two 
brown  hands. 

*  **  Look  at  me,  Persilla,  look  at  me,"  he  said. 
"  Against  my  thought  I  was  made  holy ;  but  the 
thing  is  done,  and  it  is  glorious,  I  believe.  So 
many  Jews !  Many  have  been  made  saints  for 
less ;  but  I  see  plainly  that  saintly  I  must  live 
and  saintly  die,  lest  God  be  proved  mistaken  in 
me.  And,  oh,  my  dear,  be  thou  saintly  too  !  Face 
to  face  on  the  bridge,  we  shall  see  each  other ;  so, 
perhaps,  side  by  side  we  shall  lie  in  grave,  and 
side  by  side  win  Heaven.     Shall  it  be,  Persilla  ? " 

*  She  said,  "  Yes,  Gervase,"  and  quickly  and 
eagerly  he  kissed  her  once  ;  then  turned  and  went 
in.  Persilla  stood  hugging  herself  awhile  before 
she  walked  away  into  the  dark.  Then  she  walked 
directly  to  her  ruined  hermitage,  facing  Gervase's 
on  the  bridge,  and  there  stayed  immovable.  Sornia 
was  left  alone. 

217 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

*  Those  two  hermitages  on  Lene  Bridge  with 
their  two  young  tenants  were  the  standing  wonder 
of  twice  two  shires.  Pilgrims  came  from  oversea, 
many  cures  were  wrought,  things  stupendous  and 
(to  this  our  unhappy  age)  well-nigh  incredible  were 
done.  Call  nothing,  however,  incredible.  Saints 
Gervase  and  Persilla  were  lights  to  their  day,  and 
may  be  (for  all  we  know)  lights  to  our  sons'  day. 
Why  not  ?  If  simple  lives  lived  simply,  and 
innocent  deeds  done  single-mindedly,  or  pure 
motions  which  spring  from  honest  beliefs  can  ensure 
saintship,  then  Saint  Persilla,  then  Saint  Gervase, 
may  well  have  their  crowns.  They  knew  no  better 
and  did  no  evil,  either  of  them.  But  the  greater 
was  Saint  Gervase,  who  converted  all  the  Jews  in 
Plessy  by  mere  simplicity.' 

This  pleasant,  edifying  tale  from  the  Lady  Prioress 
brought  forth  emotions  of  various  kinds  out  of  its 
hearers.  Percival  was  grateful  to  his  mistress  for 
her  justification  of  his  singing  voice  ;  Mawdleyn 
Touchett,  whether  she  saw  herself  in  the  part  of 
Persilla  or  not,  displayed  Persilla's  soft  rapture  in 
her  speaking  face ;  but  the  face  of  Master  Richard 
Smith  was  compact  of  winks  and  incredulity. 
*  I'll  not  deny  miraculous  fluting  in  a  chit  of  a  boy,' 
he  said  to  the  Scrivener,  as  they  rode  together 
snugly  under  the  green  hills  of  Kent ;  '  but  you  are 

218 


THE   PRIORESS'   TALE 

not  to  tell  me  that  a  long  person  of  this  Thrust- 
wood's  inches  hath  the  twitter  of  a  girl  in  his 
gullet  for  nothing.  No,  no,  by  Saint  John  of 
Beverley,  I  know  better.'  The  Scrivener  replied 
that  he  also  knew  much  better,  and  what  he  knew 
would  impart  to  the  Shipman  on  an  early  occasion. 
He  added,  that  the  Prioress's  tale,  saving  her 
reverence,  was  nothing  out  of  the  common,  since  he 
had  acquired  a  dozen  of  the  sort  in  the  course  of 
learning  his  letters.  Three  or  four  of  these  he 
offered  to  relate  then  and  there  to  his  good  friend. 
*  For  here  we  are  at  Wrotham  town,'  says  he,  '  and 
a  fair  ten  miles  before  us  if  we  are  to  arrive  at  Boxley 
this  night.  Tliat  is  a  long  road  to  travel,  at  past 
noon,  mind  you.' 

•You  shall  tell  me  your  tales.  Master  Corbet,' 
said  the  Shipman,  '  when  we  are  stretching  our  legs 
by  the  Abbot  of  Boxley's  wood  fire.  Just  now  I  am 
not  easy  in  my  mind  for  thinking  of  that  Thrust- 
wood  who  comes  from  Glo'ster  without  a  Glo'stcr 
name — and  there's  the  truth,  if  you  must  have  it.' 

'  I  can  make  you  easier  on  that  score,'  replied  the 
Scrivener  ;  '  for  I  know  more  about  him  than  you 
do.     Know  then ' 

But  what  the  Scrivener  had  to  say  of  Percival 
Perceforest  is  out  of  the  tale,  as  the  Saga-men  say. 


2ig 


THE   SHIPMAN'S  TALE 


THE   SHIPMAN'S  TALE 

"\^7HAT  the  Scrivener  said  to  the  Shipman  over- 
night sank  in  deep  water  and  sent  up 
bubbles.  So  soon  as  the  pilgrims  were  fairly  on 
the  chalk  road  which  takes  you  out  of  Boxley, 
Smith  claimed  the  right  to  be  heard. 

*  Madam,'  he  said  to  the  Prioress,  '  let  the  tale  be 
mine  this  day.  Believe  me,  I  have  a  design  in 
asking.'  So  said,  he  looked  shrewdly  at  Percival, 
who  avoided  him. 

The  Prioress  was  gracious  enough  to  allow  his 
plea.  *  The  design  we  shall  look  for,  Master  Smith,' 
said  she,  '  must  be  in  the  tale,  if  you  please,  and  no 
deeper  in  you  than  to  make  you  our  entertainer.' 

*  Content  you,  madam,  content  you,'  replied  the 
Shipman.  '  I  will  entertain  you  liberally — and 
older  friends  than  your  ladyship — if  I  am  spared  to 
see  the  Head  of  Thomas.' 

Thereupon  he  began  his  discourse,  which  he 
called 

The  Cast  of  the  Apple. 

*  If  the  old  Romancers  are  to  be  believed,'  he 
said,   '  the   ways   of  lovers   were   not  so  diverse  as 

223 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

you  might  have  supposed.  For  however  fondly  they 
loved,  whether  out  of  measure  or  within  it,  when 
occasion  was  that  faith  should  be  tried  or  danger 
averted  by  means  of  disguise ;  however  simple  that 
disguise  might  be,  one  person  was  always  deceived 
by  it :  I  mean  the  lover.  So  in  the  tale  of  young 
Paris,  loving  the  fair  Vienne,  the  Dauphin's  daughter 
of  Auvergne ;  whom  a  king's  son  also  loved.  Now 
Paris  had  been  banished  for  his  presumption,  and 
Vienne,  because  she  would  not  consider  the  case 
of  her  royal  lover,  cast  into  prison.  But  it  is  well 
known  how,  by  means  of  an  old  hen  under  her  arm, 
she  deceived  the  king's  son ;  and  how  again  Paris, 
having  performed  prodigies  in  the  Holy  Land, 
returning  to  Auvergne,  deceived  her  in  her  turn 
with  no  more  disguise  than  a  palmer's  gown  and 
cockle. 

*  So  Flors  was  brought  to  his  mistress  Blancafior 
in  a  basket  of  greenstuff,  and  the  Soldan  of 
Babylon,  who  loved  her  as  much  as  ever  he  did, 
seeing  the  pair  asleep,  lightly  believed  them  to  be 
sisters  and  was  made  a  Christian  at  the  first 
glance. 

*  But  I  have  a  case  where  there  was  more  excuse 
for  the  lover.  Here  he  was  deceived  from  the 
beginning.  He  loved,  but  knew  not  whom  he 
loved ;  he  sought,  he  found,  but  could  not  tell 
whether  what  he  sought  had  been  found,  or  what  he 

224 


THE   SHIPMAN'S   TALE 

found  sought.  His  device,  whereby  at  last  he  was 
made  sure,  is  a  good  one.  It  was  adopted,  as  no 
doubt  you  remember,  by  the  notable  Captain 
Ulysses  on  a  famous  occasion.  This  lover  of  mine, 
called  Sagramor,  was  younger  brother  of  Sir  Belem 
of  the  Red  Fell — the  second  of  three,  whereof  the 
third  and  youngest  was  Sir  Herlouin.  I  see  him 
a  tall,  sanguine-hued  young  man  with  a  pointed 
beard,  a  singing  voice  and  generous  eyes.  I  know 
he  had  a  great  heart  and  am  sure  he  was  a  lover  by 
predisposition,  because  his  name  in  chivalry  was 
Le  Bel  Enemy.  All  students  of  this  exact  and 
elegant  science  will  understand  the  import  of  such 
a  name.  It  meant  that  his  comeliness  made 
Sagramor  the  foe  of  his  friends,  his  generosity  the 
friend  of  his  enemies.  No  handsomer  thing  could 
be  said  of  any  man.  It  was,  in  fact,  found  too 
handsome  by  the  elder,  Sir  Belem,  who  at  the  time 
this  tale  begins  had  banished  his  brother. 

'Sir  Belem  of  the  Red  Fell  was  lord  of  thirty 
valleys  in  the  County  of  Salop,  with  a  tower  at  the 
head  of  each.  Chirk  was  his,  and  Chirbury,  and  all 
the  black  lands  between  Rhiw  and  Berriew,  rivers 
of  North  Wales  ;  of  Clun  Forest  he  had  as  much 
as  was  good  for  him  and  more  than  was  good  for 
many.  The  king  believed  him  a  great  bulwark  of 
the  Marches,  and  Belem  was  of  the  same  mind  :  to 
that  end  he  chose  to  live  in  his  Castle  of  the  Red 

225  p 


NEW   CANTERBURY  TALES 

Fell,  whence  (like  an  eagle  from  his  eyrie)  he  could 
watch  in  fair  weather  the  dominion  of  Wales,  the 
broad  plains,  the  rivers,  forests  and  girdling  moun- 
tains of  that  unsubdued  plot  of  earth.  Chiefly  he 
could  see — as  he  most  desired — Powys,  and  in  the 
midst  of  it  the  white  stronghold  of  that  grim  old 
vavasour  Sir  Caradoc ;  I  mean  Sir  Caradoc  of  the 
Graceless  Guard,  old  in  years,  older  in  sin,  insa- 
tiably proud,  who  had  made  the  green  plain  a  haunt 
of  dread,  and  the  good  towns,  that  shone  once  like 
eyes  in  a  fair  face,  pools  of  restless  fear.  Sir  Belem, 
a  tyrant  in  his  own  way,  was  jealous  of  such 
a  tyrant  as  that.  Round  about  his  Graceless  Guard 
Sir  Caradoc  ruled  as  a  thief  may  rule  thieves. 
"  Rob  me  and  you  will  be  robbed,"  was  what  he 
said  to  the  terre-tenants ;  and  they  knew  very  well, 
without  dots  on  the  i's,  that  he  was  their  only  stay 
and  comfort  against  the  English  barons  on  the 
March — excellent  thieves,  of  whom  Sir  Belem 
(I  take  leave  to  say)  was  one,  and  not  the  least 
excellent.  So  the  men  of  Powys,  lest  a  worse  thing 
should  befall  them,  suffered  the  old  land-pirate 
Caradoc  to  pillage  them  as  he  would — him  and  his 
seven  sons. 

*  Seven  sons  he  had,  no  fev/er ;  and  that  was  the 
litter  upon  which  Sir  Belem  kept  his  weather-eye. 
They  were  cat-a-mountains  all,  a  vexed  brood,  whose 
names  were  these: — Gaunt, and  Merlyn,and  Pereduc, 

226 


THE   SHIPMAN'S   TALE 

Ros,  and  Garyn,  and  Meskyn,  and  young  Lewknor, 
who  proved  the  hardiest ;  handsome  tall  lads,  black- 
polled,  all  in  hue  fair  red  and  white,  all  thieves,  all 
great  lovers,  and  all  but  one  damned.  You  will 
hardly  ask  me  now  whether  Sir  Caradoc's  lady  was 
alive.  She  was  not,  but  had  died  giving  birth  to 
Lewknor  de  la  Garde,  to  him  and  one  other  twin 
with  him,  a  girl  called  Audiart.  The  people  of 
Powys  called  her  the  Dark  Rose,  and  said  that  no 
one  could  tell  her  from  her  brother  Lewknor.  In 
England  this  was  held  to  imply  that  she  was  a 
termagant ;  but  no  reliance  can  be  put  upon  English 
consideration  of  the  matter,  since  Audiart  had  never 
been  seen  over  the  March,  unless  indeed  the  tale  be 
true  that  she  sometimes  rode  out  with  her  brothers 
in  Lewknor's  clothes. 

*  Now,  in  the  days  when  Sir  Sagramor  of  the  Re^ 
Fell  first  went  over  sea,  and  when  Sir  Herlouin  was 
a  growing  lad  at  the  Red  Fell,  one  from  the  Grace- 
less Guard  (it  was  supposed,  Pereduc)  stole  Sir 
Belem's  wife  Helewise,  and  kept  her  five  years  in 
Wales  against  all  that  Sir  Belem  could  do ;  after 
which  time,  this  Pereduc  being  tired  of  her,  she 
was  ready  to  die,  and  did  die.  Sir  Belem  said  little, 
that  not  being  in  his  way,  but  he  did  as  much  as  he 
could,  and  pretty  well.  For  Dame  Helewise  had 
not  been  dead  more  than  a  year  and  a  day  when, 
as  he  was  hunting  a  stag,  he  came  unawares  upon 

227 


NEW   CANTERBURY  TALES 

three  of  his  enemies — Gaunt,  Ros  and  Meskyn  de 
la  Garde — lying  at  random  in  a  grove  of  birch  trees 
hard  by  a  fair  stream.  Gaunt  was  asleep,  Meskyn 
mending  a  bow,  Ros  had  his  feet  in  the  water  while 
he  sang.  Sir  Belem,  grim  and  speechless,  took  them 
all  three,  bound  their  hands  behind  their  backs, 
and  drove  them  before  him,  like  cattle  at  the  goad's 
point,  to  the  Red  Fell.  That  which  was  terrible 
about  Belem  was  his  silence.  If  it  had  made  Dame 
Helewise  his  wife  glad  of  Pereduc,  so  long  as  he 
was  glad  of  her,  and  even  when  he  was  not,  to 
prefer  death  to  her  husband ;  if  it  had  made  Sir 
Sagramor  take  service  with  the  Count  of  Hainault 
— ^judge  to  what  length  it  drove  these  proud,  chat- 
tering Welsh  youths.  It  made  Gaunt  and  Ros  and 
Meskyn  de  la  Garde  first  rage,  then  foam,  then 
weep  with  raving,  then  swoon,  and  last  submit  like 
mutes — all  the  spirit  scared  out  of  them  by  a  wooden 
English  knight.  Sir  Belem  made  hinds  of  his 
prisoners :  Meskyn,  a  mere  lad,  was  turned  afield 
to  be  crow-keeper;  Ros  became  cowherd,  and  Gaunt, 
a  very  noble  young  man  to  all  appearance,  a  plough- 
teamster  in  the  marshy  lands  about  Severn. 

*  Immediately  news  of  this  became  known  Sir 
Caradoc  levied  war  upon  Sir  Belem,  and  drove  him 
to  sore  straits  to  defend  all  that  he  had.  The 
Welshmen  came  up  in  hordes,  held  all  the  passes 
and  threatened  all  the  towers.     It  was  not  so  much 

228 


THE   SHIPMAN'S   TALE 

that  vassals  failed  the  Englishman  as  that  his 
borders  were  wide.  Sir  Belem,  who  had  but  one 
single  purpose,  was  content  to  wait  its  fulfilment ; 
but  meantime  he  made  his  youngest  brother 
Herlouin  a  knight,  and  thought  it  well  to  do  what 
I  am  sure  he  had  no  taste  for,  I  mean  to  send  a 
messenger  oversea  to  summon  his  second  brother 
Sagramor  with  horse  and  arms  to  help  him.  There 
was  no  love  lost  between  this  pair ;  Belem  hated 
Sagramor  as  the  night  the  day ;  but  when  a  gentle- 
man has  thirty  valleys  to  defend  and  a  grudge  to 
feed  into  the  bargain,  he  has  no  time  for  quarreling 
with  his  brothers.  And  much  as  he  hated  Sagramor, 
badly  as  he  had  used  him  and  badly  as  he  meant 
to  use  him,  he  knew  that  he  would  come.  So  the 
devil,  as  they  say,  loves  to  see  the  cross  upon  a  bond. 
*  But  the  English  roads  were  still  waiting  for 
Sir  Sagramor  le  Bel  Enemy  while  the  Welshmen 
poured  over  the  border.  Sir  Belem  drew  back  from 
valley  to  valley,  until  it  came  to  this,  that  he  was 
besieged  in  his  castle  of  Red  Fell,  and  could  only 
hold  that  with  the  demesnes  about  it.  It  was  no 
pleasant  sight  for  the  great  brooding  man  to  see 
his  good  lands  covered  with  Welsh  pavilions ;  and 
yet  he  had  to  endure  a  worse.  Every  day  Sir 
Caradoc  de  la  Garde,  with  three  of  the  four  sons 
left  him — one  to  carry  his  banner,  one  to  ride  on 
his  right  hand,  and  one  to  ride  on  his  left  hand — 

229 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

rode  up  the  valley  and  was  acclaimed  by  those  he 
called  his  liegemen,  haggard  rogues  all  of  them, 
with  hoarse  voices  and  sudden  small  hands.  Upon 
his  tower-top  Sir  Belem  sat  grimly,  nursing  his 
sword  and  his  hate  together,  speaking  never  a 
word.  So  then  old  Sir  Caradoc,  his  white  hair 
blown  about  his  fierce  face,  bareheaded  as  he  always 
was,  would  ride  close  under  the  very  walls  and  cry 
out,  "  Come  down,  Belem,  thou  dumb  dog,  and 
I  will  hang  thee  for  my  sons'  sake."  Belem,  im- 
mutably patient,  said  never  a  word,  and  would  not 
kill  the  old  man  yet ;  rather,  he  gloomed  the  more 
darkly,  his  eyes  fixed  always  upon  the  brown  valley 
where  a  shrunken  river,  brabbling  among  rocks, 
ran  its  journey  into  the  heart  of  England.  The 
streams  fell  either  way  from  the  ridge  which  was 
the  Red  Fell,  east  into  England,  west  into  Wales. 
From  the  east,  and  up  this  rocky  valley  Sir 
Sagramor  must  ride  with  his  men,  since  no  other 
was  open.  Yet  a  full  month  before  he  could  be 
looked  for  Belem  had  caught  Pereduc  de  la  Garde 
in  an  ambush  and  hanged  him  up  on  a  tall  tree 
midmost  of  the  Welsh  pass.  He  did  not  know 
that  he  was  hanging  the  ravisher  of  his  wife ;  but 
his  brother  Herlouin  and  all  his  vassals  knew  it 
quite  well.  When  next  Sir  Caradoc  came  up 
against  him  he  was  without  a  banner-bearer,  but 
still  with   a   mailed   son   on   either   side  his  horse. 

230 


THE   SHIPMAN'S   TALE 

And  this  time,  though  he  rode  as  before,  bare- 
headed, courting  destruction,  under  the  outer  wall 
of  the  fosse,  he  called  out  no  injurious  invitation 
to  Sir  Belem ;  but  he  lifted  up  a  tight,  wizened 
face,  whereon  sat  desire  grinning  like  a  dog. 

'You  may  suppose  that  he  judged  his  son 
Lewknor  either  too  young  to  bear  the  weight  of 
mail,  or  too  dear  to  run  the  risk  of  Sir  Belem, 
since  he  was  content  to  be  without  a  banner- 
bearer.  That  he  could  dock  himself  of  so  much 
pride  has  an  air  of  fear.  Venturesome  old  merchant 
that  he  was,  he  had  come  to  a  point  where  he 
dared  not  have  all  in  one  bottom.  Two  sons  he 
had  left  to  be  esquires  of  his  body ;  one  should 
be  at  home  in  case  of  new  sorrow.  He  never 
expected,  though  I  hope  he  deserved,  the  sorrow 
that  befel  him  when,  that  same  night,  he  made 
a  fierce  attack  on  the  castle  of  Red  Fell,  and  an 
attack  of  torches,  smoke,  haste,  scrambling,  and 
hot  crying.  The  Welshman  bridged  the  fosse  and 
heaped  brushwood  about  the  inner  bailey,  meaning 
to  set  it  alight.  This  fire  would  have  served  to 
cover  scaling-ladders  and  murder ;  there  would  have 
been  no  sound  throats  in  the  Red  Fell,  had  not 
Belem  been  speedier  than  his  assailants.  He  him- 
self it  was  who  had  the  doors  set  open  before 
they  had  kindled  the  wood,  but  not  before  the 
party  of  the   castle  was  primed    to    make  a  rush. 

231 


NEW   CANTERBURY  TALES 

The  Welsh,  taken  by  surprise,  were  forced  back 
upon  their  bridge :  there  and  thereabouts  was  a 
hot  half-hour,  all  done  by  guess-work  in  the  dark. 
But  Garyn  de  la  Garde  was  drowned  in  the  fosse, 
and  Merlyn  trampled  beyond  recognition  by  his 
own  men ;  the  rest  saved  themselves  as  they  could. 
They  drew  off  without  their  dead,  not  even  knowing 
who  was  dead ;  and  for  two  or  three  weeks  there 
was  no  sign  made. 

'Sir  Caradoc,  as  many  judged,  should  have  been 
broken  by  this  tragic  night  which  had  robbed  him 
of  all  his  tall  sons;  but  Belem  judged  otherwise, 
and  rightly.  The  old  Welsh  robber,  as  proud  as 
fire,  had  a  bodyguard  still  to  flaunt  in  Fortune's 
face,  and  for  this  reason,  because  he  would  demand 
of  him  the  uttermost  farthing.  Sir  Belem  stayed 
where  he  was  in  his  castle  until  his  enemy's  pride 
should  prove  his  final  ruin.  Surely  enough  a 
day  dawned,  a  day  of  level  milky  light,  when 
they  of  the  Red  Fell  saw  Sir  Caradoc  come  up 
from  Powys,  riding  as  aforetime  between  two 
mailed  knights,  his  troop  of  reivers  and  robbers 
behind  him  ;  and  a  low  chuckle  from  Belem — like 
the  gloating  of  a  kite  over  a  meadow — made  young 
Herlouin  aware  of  a  new  turn  in  the  game.  Bright 
as  a  beam  of  the  sun  up  the  eastern  valley  came 
riding  Sir  Sagramor  le  Bel  Enemy  in  gilded  armour, 
he  and  his  friends,  homing  from  England's  heart. 

232 


THE   SHIPMAN'S   TALE 

'  Young  Herlouin  looked  from  east  to  west,  from 
west  to  east ;  and  presently  he  spoke  with  a  gush 
of  pity  in  his  voice.  "  Here,  brother,"  he  said,  *'  is 
your  enemy  at  his  last  shift,  who  (to  maintain  his 
estate)  is  forced  to  put  under  armour  the  tender 
bodies  of  children ;  and  these  his  last,  and  one 
of  thera  a  girl.  Let  us  show  mercy,  Belem,  at 
this  time.  Unmask  him,  strip  him,  show  him 
a  braggart :  but  have  you  not  yet  had  enough  of  his 
flesh  ?  Three  of  his  sons  you  have  dead,  and  three 
in  thrall;  what  worse  thing  can  you  do  him  than 
leave  him  alone  with  his  memories  ?  And  as  for 
these  pretty  children,  what  harm  have  they  done, 
or  what  can  do  ?  " 

*  The  youth  spoke  urgently,  not  without  tears ; 
but  Belem  never  turned  his  eyes  from  the  east 
where  Sagramor  his  brother  showed  with  thirty-five 
spears  behind  him.  He  had  his  great  horse 
apparelled,  armed  himself  from  head  to  foot, 
and  laid  his  bare  sword  across  his  knees  ; 
he  did  nothing  more,  and  said  not  a  word. 
Again  Herlouin  urged  him ;  this  time  he  turned 
his  back.  Then  Herlouin  saw  that  Sagramor  was 
aware  of  the  opposing  force ;  he  saw  him  turn 
to  his  companions,  he  saw  them  spur,  he  saw  the 
horses  plunge  at  the  steel  and  quicken.  It  came 
into  his  mind  that  Belem  meant  to  do  his  butchering 
by  deputy,  to  serve  both  his  hatreds  at  once — kill 

233 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

the  children  of  his  enemy  and  fasten  upon  his 
brother  the  shame  of  the  fact.  Herlouin,  boy 
as  he  was,  grew  red  in  the  face  and  swore  the 
thing  should  not  be. 

'  He  slipped  away  from  the  tower  where  Belem 
stood  with  his  friends  watching  the  game,  got  out 
of  doors  by  a  little  wicket,  scrambled  to  horse-back 
and  spurred  towards  Sagramor,  intent  upon  reach- 
ing him  before  it  was  too  late.  This  he  was  just 
able  to  do,  but  no  more.  The  two  lines  were 
ready  to  engage  in  the  open  ground  before  the 
castle,  drawn  up  in  line  facing  each  other,  some 
two  careers  of  a  horse  apart.  Into  the  middle 
space  came  Herlouin,  stooping  low  to  his  horse's 
neck,  at  a  hand  gallop.  Sagramor  saw  and  knew 
him.  "  Hold,  brother,  hold,  Sagramor,"  cried  the 
boy,  panting;  "  be  advised  what  you  do  !  " 

*  "  Dompnedex  ! "  says  Sagramor  with  a  high 
head.  "  Brother  Herlouin,  I  shall  do  what 
becomes  me." 

"*  By  my  soul,  you  will  not,"  says  the  other; 
and  Sagramor, 

' "  How  then,  if  I  punish  the  enemies  of  our 
house  ?  "  His  eyes,  very  tierce,  glittered  between 
the  bars  of  his  visor.  These  sort  of  interruptions 
were  not  at  all  to  his  taste. 

*  But  Herlouin  was  sure  of  his  case.  "  Let  man 
meet     man,"     he     said,     "  and     the     better     man 

234 


THE   SHIPMAN'S   TALE 

prevail.      But,     Sagramor,     make     no     war     upon 
a  boy  and  girl." 

*  "  How  now  ?  "  says  Sagramor  ;  so  then 
Herlouin  told  him  how  Sir  Caradoc  had  lost  his 
six  grown  sons,  and  was  attended  now  by  a  boy 
on  his  right  or  left  and  a  girl  on  his  left  or  right, 
twin  children  of  a  dead  mother,  whose  joint  ages 
might  scarcely  exceed  his  own.  He  told  him  that 
one  or  other  of  the  old  Knight's  esquires  was  his 
daughter  Audiart,  and  one  his  son  Lewknor ;  that 
which  was  which  there  was  no  telling ;  that  as  for 
the  rest  of  the  Welsh  host,  they  were  rapscallions, 
lick-pots,  lackeys,  varlets,  dog-bolts,  stable-hinds 
and  gallows-birds  of  Powys,  unworthy  of  the  arms 
they  bore  or  of  those  now  offered  against  them, 
servants  and  panders  of  old  Caradoc's  ruining 
pride.  He  ended — **  Will  you  draw  upon  children 
or  tilt  against  cattle-thieves,  Sagramor?"  And 
Sagramor  in  a  great  heat  swore  "  By  our  Lady, 
I  will  not." 

*  Sir  Caradoc  de  la  Garde  began  to  taunt  the 
good  knight  for  delay,  and  might  have  forced 
a  fray  upon  him  but  for  diversion  from  another 
quarter.  Out  of  the  castle  rode  Sir  Belem  in  his 
armour,  and  his  vassals  with  him — Brian  Longescu, 
Maynard  Tregoz,  Sir  Bartholemew  of  the  Spiny 
Brake,  Sir  Matthew  of  the  Reidswire,  Sir  Cuthbert 
of  the  Mynd,  and  other  gentlemen  of  Salop,  heavily 

235 


NEW   CANTERBURY  TALES 

horsed  and  accoutred  with  long  shields  and  spears 
at  rest,  as  if  to  fight  with  Saracens  at  Roncesvalles, 
or  brave  the  slaughter  of  Aliscans.  Directly  he  was 
aware  of  Belem  Sir  Caradoc  spurred  out  to  meet 
him  more  than  half-way,  a  bow-shot  at  least  in 
advance  of  his  men ;  and  on  either  side  of  him 
those  last  gallant  slips  of  his  tree  pushed  on  level, 
abreast,  as  if  their  hearts  danced  in  unison.  "  Fight 
me  now,  Belem,  thou  red  felon,"  roared  the  old 
Welsh  Knight,  and  shook  his  spear.  Deep  in  his 
throat  spake  Belem  for  the  first  time,  saying,  "  By 
God,  I  will."  And  then  as  he  made  himself 
ready  he  gave  the  signal  to  Sagramor  to  charge 
the  Welshmen  in  flank  and  so  pen  them  like 
cattle. 

*  But  Sagramor  threw  up  his  spear-arm  in  token 
that  he  must  speak  before  he  did  anything.  Once 
more  the  Welshman  paused  to  hear  him.  Then 
he  said,  "  Brother  Belem,  I  am  advised  that  Sir 
Caradoc  has  brought  out  his  two  children — all  that 
he  has  left — in  armour,  and  that  one  of  these  is 
a  young  virgin.  They  tell  me  that  the  rest  of  his 
following  are  villeins  pranked  in  the  mail  of  good 
knights.  If  these  reports  be  true  you  know  better 
than  to  call  me  on.  If  they  be  not  true,  let  Sir 
Caradoc  deny.  But  I  believe  they  are  true,  and 
therefore  I  will  do  one  of  two  things :  I  will  meet 
Sir  Caradoc  himself  (as  his  due  is)  in  single  combat, 

236 


THE   SHIPMAN'S  TALE 

on  horse  and  on  foot,  and  give  a  good  account  of 
myself,  as  I  hope ;  or  let  him  stand  aside  with  his 
imps,  so  unarmed,  with  a  flail  in  my  hand  I  will 
pound  this  rascaille  as  it  deserves.  But,  Belem, 
you  shall  not  require  me  to  go  a-tilt  against  hinds, 
nor  do  battle  with  a  young  boy.  There  were  better 
customs  in  England  before  I  left  it." 

*  Sir  Belem,  who  saw  his  plan  spoiled,  was 
furious.  "  Is  this  your  custom  of  over  sea  ?  Is  this 
your  loyalty  ?  I  spit  upon  you,  recreant."  So  he 
said;  then  to  his  followers,  "  Pass  avant  1  Follow 
Belem ! "  The  whole  long  line  of  his  men  set 
spears  in  rest  and  drove  in  the  sharp  spurs.  Old 
Sir  Caradoc  turned  in  his  saddle  to  give  warning 
to  his  host;  but  Sagramor,  seeing  that  he  and  his 
two  squires  must  be  swept  up  and  devoured  by 
Belem  before  any  support  could  reach  them, 
Sagramor,  I  say,  uttered  a  sharp  cry.  "  Dieu  nous 
garde  !  This  is  massacre,  not  war.  On  my  side, 
Herlouin,"  he  said,  **  follow,  follow  close  !  "  He 
cantered  out  in  advance  of  his  company,  they 
pressing  after  in  due  order,  with  intent  to  interpose 
his  force  between  Belem  and  his  prey ;  and  this 
would  have  been  done  if  Sir  Caradoc,  hungry  and 
thirsty  for  death,  had  not  rushed  in  to  meet  it. 
But  so  it  fell  out  that  the  three  companies  met  in 
the  midst  with  a  thudding  shock,  and  that  Belem 
was  on  terms  with  the  father  of  his  thief  before  any 

237 


NEW   CANTERBURY  TALES 

one  could  comfort  him.  At  the  first  onset  Belem 
sent  the  old  knight  headlong  to  ground,  thrust 
through  the  gorget  with  a  spear.  He  pinned  him 
to  the  earth  and  left  the  spear  sticking  there ; 
then  drawing  sword  he  would  have  gone  on  to  yet 
more  dreadful  slaking  of  his  dry  heat.  Seeing 
which,  Sagramor  with  a  mace  clove  a  way  for 
himself  through  the  vassals  of  his  house,  once  his 
friends,  intent  to  defend  from  their  fury  those  v/ho 
had  done  them  the  first  wrong.  "  Put  up,  Belem, 
put  up  !  "  he  shouted  in  a  high  voice  as  he  wrought ; 
"  do  those  innocents  no  harm,  or  by  Heaven  I 
shall  repay  it  on  thee  !  "  So  he  said,  and  smote 
right  and  left,  trying  by  all  means  to  get  at  his 
brother.  Close  behind  him  pressed  Herlouin.  But 
they  saw  the  two  armed  children  side  by  side 
engage  the  man  who  had  overthrown  their  father, 
and  knew  that  it  must  end  as  it  must,  without  any 
instance  of  their  own. 

*  Sir  Belem  played  with  their  wild  sallies  as  a 
great  cat  may  handle  a  mouse,  when  she  is  full  of 
idleness  as  well  as  vice.  Temptingly  he  opened 
guard  once  or  twice,  whereupon  they,  with  the 
mad  spirit  of  their  father  surging  in  them,  came 
on  furiously  and  at  random.  So  presently,  with 
a  light  flicker  of  his  blade,  Belem  cut  at  one  of 
them  and  shore  through  the  plates  of  the  neck- 
piece, so  that  the  helm  was  loosened  and  fell  off 

238 


THE   SHIPMAN'S  TALE 

sideways.  They  saw  him  falter  at  that,  even  with 
his  sword  shivering  in  mid-air  ready  to  strike.  It 
would  seem  that  shame  smote  even  him  when  out 
of  the  ungainly  trunk  of  steel,  to  look  upon  the  ruin 
and  raving,  the  dust,  the  clamour  and  the  blood, 
there  beamed  forth  the  smooth  pale  face,  the  wide 
eyes,  the  rippling  dark  hair  of  a  grave  young  girl. 
Hither  and  thither  drove  the  press  of  battle, 
swirling  like  a  whirlpool  in  the  tide,  while  Belem 
sat  gaping  at  his  deed. 

'  Spurring  at  last  came  Sagramor  to  the  place. 
He  swung  his  mace  about  his  head,  struck  down- 
wards, and  splintered  the  sword  of  Belem  his 
brother.  "  Oh,  shame  to  our  father's  blood  !  "  he 
cried  with  trembling  voice,  **  What  hast  thou  done, 
Belem  ?  "  He  looked  at  the  girl,  she  steadily  at 
him  ;  he  hung  his  head,  he  sat  adroop,  thoughtful 
on  his  horse.  But  Belem,  recovering  himself,  quick 
to  the  advantage,  snatched  at  the  spear  which, 
transfixing  old  Caradoc's  throat,  still  swayed  like 
a  pole  in  the  tideway ;  with  a  wrench  he  pulled  it 
out,  then  aimed  a  buffet  sideways  at  Sagramor — 
a  foul  blow.  Over  against  him  that  other  armed 
child  of  the  Graceless  Guard  got  between  him 
and  the  girl ;  but  Belem  was  now  intent  upon  his 
brother,  pressing  him  with  shield  and  short  sword 
so  as  by  any  means  to  have  his  life.  Herlouin 
took  his  chance  to  get  the  girl  out  of  the  mess, 

239 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

pressed  forward  and  confronted  her  and  her  armed 
brother.  Backward  Hke  the  long  wash  of  a  wave 
came  the  battle,  and  swept  him,  the  boy  and  the 
maid,  into  the  main  stream  of  strife. 

'As   they  drifted  hurtling  together,  young  Her- 
louin,    for    honest    ends,    lifted    sword    and    voice 
above  the  din.     "  My  prize,  my  capture !  "  he  cried 
as  he  strove  to  disarm  the  Welsh  boy.     But  at  the 
words  Lewknor  de  la  Garde  threw  himself  forward 
upon  him  :  Herlouin  felt  his  hands  at  his  shoulders, 
heard  him  grunt  as  he  tussled  and  tried  for  mastery. 
"Never    your    capture,   English    wolf!"     he    said 
between  his  teeth,  whimpering  and  fretting  at  his 
lack  of  strength.     "  Let  loose,  little  fool,"  says  Her- 
louin ;  "  I  am  doing  what  I  can  for  you  ;"  but  to  no 
purpose.     Either  he  was  past  the  sense  of  the  ears 
or  the  lust  of  murder  was  upon  him  ;  possessed  at 
least  by  some  devil  he  slipped  from  his  horse  and 
clung  with   his   full  weight  upon  Herlouin's   neck, 
endangering  both  their  lives.     Seeing  which  a  friend 
and  vassal  of  the    Red  Fell — Maynard  Tregoz  by 
name,   a   valliant    knight    of    Salop — let    drive    at 
Lewknor  with  his  axe,  and  hitting  him  fairly  on  the 
top  of  the  head,  split  his  helm  clean  in  the  middle, 
so  that  the  two  halves  fell  apart.     The  hands  parted 
from   Herlouin's  neck ;  Herlouin   was  free.     A  uni- 
versal cry  went  up  on  all  sides  :  here  on  the  ground 
before  them  was  another  girl  in  all  points  like  the 

240 


THE  SHIPMAN'S  TALE 

first :  the  round  smooth  face,  the  pouting  rich 
mouth,  curling  hair,  fringed  eyes ;  and  over  all  rage 
and  awe,  shame  and  high  blood,  clouding,  flushing, 
paling,  leaping,  dying,  like  a  mountain  fire.  Her- 
louin,  looking  dreadfully  upon  the  sight,  crossed 
himself.  Was  this  the  girl  and  t'other  the  boy  ? 
Had  he,  all  unknowing,  wrestled  with  a  virgin  ? 
Were  both  of  them  girls  ?  If  so,  had  a  girl  so 
nearly  had  him  down  ?  God  knew,  in  a  generous 
youth  this  was  no  time  for  nice  considerations. 
Here,  it  did  seem,  were  two  girls  in  a  man's  affair. 
They  must  be  got  out.  "  Man  or  maid,"  says 
Herlouin,  "  I  fight  you  no  more.  Trust  me,  and  help 
me  get  your  sister  out  of  this."  He  spoke  as  he 
hoped,  not  as  he  knew ;  and  first  his  enemy  looked 
at  him  with  a  hint  of  fight  left  in  two  hot  grey  eyes. 
But  then,  "  Get  her  away,"  he  said,  and  Herlouin 
thanked  his  Saviour  for  knowledge.  By  labour  and 
heat,  by  hard  knocks  not  a  few,  by  shouting 
himself  hoarse,  by  prayers,  entreaties,  and  his 
horse's  rump,  he  got  a  way  made  for  them  out  of 
the  battle.  Side  by  side  they  came  out,  and  side  by 
side  rode  off  down  the  valley  into  Powys ;  and 
it  was  pretty  (where  so  much  was  grim)  to  see  the 
care  each  had  for  the  other.  But  for  the  life  of  him 
Herlouin  could  not  tell — when  their  backs  were 
turned — which  of  them  it  was  had  called  the  other 
"  Sister."     Certainly,   a   more   beautiful    pair,   or  a 

241  Q 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

pair  which  made  franker  coparceny — whereby  the 
girl  took  boyish  looks  and  the  boy  girlish — he  had 
never  hoped  to  see. 

'  To  consider  now  the  fortunes  of  battle :  no 
living  Welshman,  except  Lewknor  and  his  twin 
sister,  left  the  ground.  Most  were  slain,  the  rest 
bound  prisoners ;  yet  in  the  midst  of  swords 
sheathed  or  sheathing  the  two  brothers  of  the 
Red  Fell  fought  like  tigers,  Belem  to  have 
Sagramor's  life,  Sagramor  to  disarm  Belem. 

*  So  by  the  grace  of  God  he  did.  Belem  lies  on 
the  ground,  Sagramor,  spent  and  breathing  deep, 
leans  on  his  mace  looking  at  him. 

'"Belem,"  says  this  good  knight,  "you  have 
sought  to  take  my  life." 

'  "  By  the  fiend,"  says  Belem,  "  and  I  will  have  it 
yet." 

'  "  I  think  not,"  Sagramor  replies  ;  "  but  let  that 
be.  So  long  as  I  remain  on  life  you  will  do  no  more 
injury  to  the  Graceless  Guard.  For  the  evil  deed 
of  one  man  there  six  men  have  paid  the  price. 
As  I  see  the  matter,  it  is  now  time  for  you  to  reflect 
that  you  are  a  Christian,  upon  whom  forgiveness  of 
sins  is  by  God's  counsel  enjoined.  Let  a  love-day 
be  proclaimed,  establish  a  peace,  and  I  spare  your 

life,  otherwise I  have  you  disarmed  below  me. 

Choose  what  you  will  do."  What  choice  was  there  ? 
Belem  gave  Sagramor  his  word,  intending  to  break 

242 


THE   SHIPMAN'S   TALE 

it,  and  Sagramor  gave  Belem  his  life.  He  let  him 
go  free,  him  and  his  men  ;  but  himself  would  not 
enter  his  father's  house. 

'  This  troubled  Herlouin,  the  youngest  of  the 
three  brothers.  "  What  will  you  do  now,  Sagra- 
mor ?  "  he  asks. 

*  **  Brother,"  said  Sagramor,  "  I  shall  go  to  pray, 
hoping  thereby  to  rid  my  soul  of  all  earthly  stain, 
so  that  a  clean,  sweet  chamber  may  be  prepared 
within  me." 

*  "But  who  shall  be  guest  to  sit  in  this  chamber?  " 
asks  Herlouin ;  and  Sagramor  told  him,  "  the  most 
lovely  lady  now  in  the  world." 

*  "  And  who  is  your  lovely  lady,  Sagramor  ?  " 

'  He  said,  "  My  lady  Audiart  of  the  Graceless 
Guard  is  the  lady — in  whose  face  Awe  sits  still, 
and  Grief,  and  Holy  Fear." 

*  "  Aha,"  cries  Herlouin,  "  then  you  saw  what 
Belem  and  I  saw :  the  young  girl  in  the  midst  of 
battle." 

'"Brother,  I  did,"  said  Sagramor;  and  Herlouin 
said,  "  I  saw  as  it  might  be  two  such  girls." 

'  Sagramor  said,  "  So  did  I,  God  help  me."  Then 
Herlouin  kissed  him,  saying,  "  May  He  be  with 
thee,  Sagramor  my  brother,  and  give  thee  thy  fond 
desire."  So  the  brothers  parted,  Sagramor  rode 
away  alone  towards  Powys,  yet  not  across  the 
border ;  but  stayed  rather  at  the  hermitage  of  the 

243 


NEW   CANTERBURY  TALES 

Ford,  and  there  spent  his  days  and  nights  in  prayer 
and  fasting  and  scourging  his  bare  bones  with  the 
discipline.  Herlouin,  for  his  part,  having  no  open 
quarrel  with  Belem,  chose  to  remain  at  the  Red 
Fell ;  for  he  thought,  "  certainly  Belem  will  not 
give  over  his  blood-feud  for  an  oath  let  slip  in  the 
article  of  death.  It  may  be  that  by  staying  I  shall 
do  Sagramor  a  service."  So  he  endured  as  well  as 
he  could  the  stark  silence,  the  meditation  of 
murder,  and  the  worse  than  meditation,  with  which 
Belem  filled  the  house,  keeping  close  watch  on 
whatever  might  be  intended  against  the  Graceless 
Guard.  The  first  thing  was  that  Belem  most 
villainously  slew  those  wretched  thralls  that  he  had. 
Gaunt  and  Ros  and  Meskyn  de  la  Garde,  and  stuck 
their  lean  heads  on  spikes  outside  the  gatehouse. 
Herlouin  took  this  shameful  news  down  to  his 
brother. 

'When  Sagramor  heard  it  he  defaced  his  shield  and 
spoiled  the  crest  on  his  helm  ;  which  done,  he  gave 
up  his  lodging  with  the  hermit  of  the  Ford  and  went 
down  into  the  plain  of  Powys,  to  the  Graceless 
Guard.  Standing  up  there,  bare  of  all  cognisance, 
he  cried  out  in  a  loud  voice,  "  Take  heed  of  the 
renunciation  of  a  good  knight,"  over  and  over 
again  until  they  of  the  castle  were  aware  of  him, 
and  came  out  on  to  the  tower  to  hear  what  he  had 
to   say.      Those   two  twin    persons   came   out ;    so 

244 


THE   SHIPMAN'S   TALE 

Sagramor  saw  again  under  a  veil  of  steel  the  lady  of 
his  heart,  though  which  of  the  two  were  she  he 
could  not  tell. 

*  One  of  them  calls  from  the  tower,  "  Who  art 
thou,  renouncing  there ;  and  what  dost  thou 
renounce  ? " 

*  Sagramor,  baring  his  head,  cries,  "  I  am 
Sagramor  of  the  Red  Fell,  brother  of  the  false 
knight  Belem  ;  whom  now  I  utterly  renounce,  and 
with  him  my  blood,  name  and  arms. 

*  Then  the  speaker  from  the  tower  asked  him, 
"  Wilt  thou  serve  us,  Sir  Sagramor  ?  "  and  he  said, 
"Yes."  So  the  other  then,  "Come  into  the 
castle  and  help  us ;  for  we  are  only  two  here  now, 
Audiart  and  Lewknor,  brother  and  sister,  and  all 
the  rest  of  our  kindred  and  household  slain  by  Sir 
Belem.  Come  in,  therefore,  and  help  us."  But 
Sagramor  lifted  up  his  right  hand,  saying,  "  By  my 
soul,  I  will  not  come  into  your  castle  until  I  am 
worthy  of  its  glorious  tenant,  my  lady  Audiart, 
whom  I  love  and  serve  in  the  dark."  To  this  no 
answer  was  returned  from  the  tower,  though  brother 
and  sister  looked  quickly  at  one  another ;  so 
Sagramor  stayed  below  in  the  weather  with  what 
comfort  he  could  suck  from  the  near  neighbourhood, 
refusing  all  manner  of  meat  or  sustenance  from 
within  doors.     This  went  on  for  many  weeks. 

'After  a  time  it  came   to  young   Sir    Herlouin's 

245 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

understanding  that  Belem  was  compassing  a  great 
new  villainy  against  the  Graceless  Guard,  namely, 
to  attack  it  in  strong  force,  kill  Lewknor,  and  serve 
Dame  Audiart  as  her  brother  Sir  Pereduc  had  served 
his  wife — that  is,  to  wed  her  by  force.  Herlouin 
rode  down  into  Powys  by  stealth  and  told  the  news 
to  Sagramor,  whom  he  found  much  aged  and  very 
cold,  standing  by  the  outer  gate.  "  Let  Belem 
come,"  says  Sagramor.  "  I  am  ready  for  him." 
To  Herlouin  the  good  knight  seemed  by  no  means 
ready  ;  but  he  let  the  two  within  the  Guard  know 
the  story,  and  they  made  ready,  after  a  fashion  of 
their  own. 

'They  sent  out  a  messenger  to  the  Red  Fell,  a 
certain  Welshman  called  Owain,  a  priest.  Belem 
was  at  meat,  Herlouin  with  him.  "  Bring  in  the 
priest,"  he  says  ;  so  they  brought  him  in,  a  thin- 
faced  man,  pinched  with  cold,  for  now  was  the 
winter  weather  come  into  the  March. 

*  "  My  lord,"  said  this  priest,  "  this  is  my  message 
to  you  from  my  master  Sir  Lewknor  of  the  Graceless 
Guard.  You  shall  ride  alone  to  the  Guard,  and 
unarmed,  so  you  shall  take  away  the  bride.  But  if 
you  come  armed  or  in  force,  your  brother  Sir 
Sagramor  shall  have  her." 

'  "  Do  you  take  me  for  a  fool  ? "  says  Belem. 
*'  What  proof  have  I  that  you  meditate  no  treachery 
against  me  ?  " 

246 


THE   SHIPMAN'S   TALE 

* "  Sir,"  replied  the  priest,  *'  my  master  has 
provided  against  your  reasonable  doubts.  He 
himself  will  be  hostage  for  your  safety.  This  is 
what  you  shall  do.  Let  your  brother  Sir  Herlouin 
come  first  in  arms  to  the  Guard.  My  master  will 
give  himself  up  into  his  hands,  and  will  so  remain 
until  you  have  obtained  her  whom  you  seek.  Will 
this  content  you  ?  " 

"  By  no  means,"  says  Belem  ;  "  for  they  may  have 
their  Graceless  Guard  filled  with  men."  The  priest 
with  a  fierce  cry  knocked  his  breast. 

*  "Ah,  would  to  God  that  they  had,  Belem  !  "  he 
said.  "  Then  I  had  never  been  here  on  such  an 
errand.  But  now  in  that  great  castle  there  are 
only  two,  Lewknor  and  his  sister  Audiart :  the 
others  all  slain,  and  by  you." 

*  Belem  says,  "  Good,  I  agree  to  your  proffer. 
Sit  down  and  eat."     But  the  priest  would  not. 

*  So  it  all  was  done.  Lewknor  de  la  Garde  met 
Herlouin  in  the  midst  of  the  snowy  pass  about  the 
time  of  the  going  down  of  the  sun.  He  was 
unarmed  and  bareheaded  ;  and  Herlouin  saw  that 
his  hair,  black  as  a  raven's  wing,  fell  rippling  to  his 
saddle.  Also  he  had  a  cold,  beautiful  face,  a  mouth 
shaped  hke  a  girl's,  and  as  soft.  Together  the 
youths  went  down  into  Powys,  and  Audiart  let 
them  into  the  Graceless  Guard. 

'  Outside  the  gate,  upon  the  trampled  snow, 
Herlouin  saw  an  armed  knight  on  watch  who,  from 

247 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

being  motionless  as  a  figure  of  stone,  when  Dame 
Audiart  came  and  stood  in  the  door,  went  down 
upon  one  knee ;  but  said  nothing,  neither  looked  at 
her.  Herlouin,  for  his  part,  did  look  from  the  sister 
to  the  brother,  and  back  again,  marveUing  that  such 
likeness  and  diversity  could  at  once  consist.  She 
was  of  the  same  height  to  a  hair,  of  the  same  goodly 
proportions,  and  (with  the  difference  proper  to  a 
maid)  of  the  same  shape.  Not  that  she  was  richly 
endowed  with  the  grace  and  treasure  of  women  ; 
otherwise,  being  yet  very  young,  she  was  slight, 
boyishly  made  rather  than  not.  The  dark  lashes  of 
her  eyes  were  no  longer  than  his,  nor  her  cheeks, 
nor  her  chin,  nor  her  mouth  more  delicately  soft. 
Herlouin  looked  at  her  hands  ;  they  were  small.  So 
were  Lewknor's.  He  saw  her  foot,  and  judged 
Lewknor's,  if  anything,  the  smaller.  Her  hair 
reached  her  middle,  and  his  went  just  so  far.  But 
at  this  time  she  was  clothed  from  neck  to  heel  in 
white  silk,  after  the  manner  of  brides,  and  on  her 
head  she  had  a  little  fillet  of  silver  leaves,  like  the 
leaves  of  a  box-tree.  Such  a  lively  sympathy  beat 
between  the  pair,  that  when  Sir  Sagramor  dropped 
upon  his  knee  and  the  girl  grew  red,  so  also  did  her 
brother  Lewknor — very  beautiful  to  see. 

'Then  she  spoke,  asking,  "Will  you  serve  me, 
Sir  Sagramor,  good  knight  ?  "  and  Sagramor  said, 
"  I  will  serve  you  utterly." 

' "  Then,"   says  she,  "  take  my  brother  Lewknor 

248 


THE   SHIPMAN'S   TALE 

here  for  esquire  of  your  body,  and  keep  him  from 
the  hostility  of  his  enemy,  Sir  Belem.  Will  you  do 
this  ?  " 

*  "  Lady,"  says  Sagramor,  "  I  shall  do  it.  But 
what  will  you  yourself  do  ?  " 

*  She  told  him.  "  I  go  to  expiate  the  blood-feud 
between  my  house  and  yours.  I  shall  go  home  with 
Sir  Belem."  Sagramor  cried  out  in  his  pain,  "  Oh, 
horrible,  you  dare  not  do  it,  nor  ask  us  to  allow  it." 
She,  smiling  bitterly,  "  Do  you  not  know  that  I  am 
of  the  Graceless  Guard.  Is  there  anything,  upon 
our  own  showing,  that  we  dare  not  do  ?  " 

Sagramor  sternly  said,  "  There  is  one  thing  that 
no  maiden  dare  to  do ;  "  and  she  bowing  her  head, 
responded,  "  That  thing  dare  not  L  Yet  they  who 
love  me  trust  me."  So  it  was  Sagramor's  turn  to 
bow  down  his  head.  Whereupon  she  came  and  put 
her  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  saying,  "  Do  you  trust 
me,  Sagramor,  who  say  that  I  have  your  love  ?  " 

*  He  replied,  "  I  do  trust." 

'  "  Stay  here  then,"  she  bade  him,  "  until  you  see 
me  depart  between  Sir  Belem  and  Sir  Herlouin. 
Wait  for  my  brother  Levvknor,  and  treat  him  well 
for  my  sake."  When  Sagramor  looked  up  at  her 
it  was  to  be  seen  by  the  light  of  the  new-risen  moon 
that  his  eyes  were  wet.  "  Lady  of  my  love  and 
duty,"  said  he,  "  I  shall  obey  you  in  all  things  from 
point  to  point.     But  if  I  may  never  see  you  again 

2^9 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

whom  I  shall  hold  in  my  heart  until  my  life's  end, 
I  shall  beseech  of  you  one  favour." 

**'  Name  it,"  says  she. 

"*  It  is,"  he  told  her,  "that  you  kiss  me  once." 
Again  she  grew  very  red  and  hesitated  for  a  long 
time  ;  again  Lewknor  blushed.  But  afterwards  she 
consented,  and  Sagramor  got  up  and  kissed  her  on 
the  mouth.  Then  she  with  Lewknor  and  Herlouin 
went  into  the  Guard  to  wait  for  Belem. 

'  Two  hours  after  moon  rise,  as  they  sat  waiting, 
they  heard  his  horn  at  the  gate.  The  three  of  them 
looked  suddenly  at  each  other,  rather  at  the  pale 
discs  which  they  knew  to  be  their  faces,  for 
nothing  else  could  they  see.  Then  Audiart  whispered 
to  her  brother,  "  Lewknor,  go  and  let  him  in."  So 
he  went  away  and  opened  wide  the  doors  of  the  hall, 
next  the  gate  of  the  inner  bailey,  and  next  let  down 
the  bridge,  and  lastly  set  open  the  gate  of  the  outer 
bailey.  Then  Belem  rode  into  the  hall,  and  drew 
rein ;  and  they  saw  horse  and  man  stand  like 
statues  looming  in  the  dusk,  with  Lewknor  beside 
them  barely  reaching  to  the  rider's  knee.  For  once 
he  had  kept  his  word,  being  without  spear  or  sword. 

'  I  have  told  you  he  was  a  silent  man.  Any  other 
would  have  said,  "  Madam,  I  have  come,"  or 
"  Madam,  here  am  I ;  "  but  Belem  said  nothing  at 
all.  But  the  fever  which  griped  Audiart  moved  her 
to  ask  what  she  knew  perfectly  well. 

250 


THE   SHIPMAN'S  TALE 

*  "  Who  art  thou,  horseman  ?  "  saith  she  :  and 
Belem,  "You  know  who  I  am.     Come." 

*  She  says,  with  a  sharp-drawn  breath,  "  In  a  good 
hour  I  come  ;  "  and  got  up  from  her  place  and  came 
forward. 

*  Her  brother  Lewknor,  whose  fear  (to  judge  from 
his  bunghng)  seemed  wilder  than  her  own,  put  a  long 
black  cloak  over  her,  shaking  as  he  did  it.  Herlouin 
went  to  help  him.  "  Courage,  friend,"  said  this 
young  man  under  his  breath ;  "  I  ride  along  with 
them,  to  do  what  I  can."  When  the  girl  was  made 
ready,  Lewknor  led  her  forward ;  Belem,  stooping, 
lifted  her  under  the  arms,  and  set  her  before  him  on 
the  saddle.  So  without  a  word  he  turned  and  rode 
fast  out  of  doors ;  and  Herlouin  with  all  the  speed 
he  had  mounted  and  followed  after,  leaving  his 
brother  Sagramor  with  young  Lewknor  alone  in  the 
Graceless  Guard. 

*  Now  follow  those  who  first  departed.  The  three 
of  them  rode  under  the  moon  from  Powys  into 
England  over  hard  ground  upon  which  lay 
a  powder  of  clean  snow.  Not  a  word  was  spoken 
until  they  reached  the  Red  Fell,  dark  and  enormous, 
before  which  stood  one  with  a  torch  to  show  the 
way.  Dismounting  first  and  in  haste,  Herlouin 
helped  down  Audiart,  Belem  consenting.  He, 
when  he  had  got  off  deliberately  (being  stiff  in  his 
joints),    faced    his   young    brother,    saying    shortly, 

251 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

**  Now,  Herlouin,  go  your  ways.  Here  is  no  lodging 
for  you."  Herlouin — a  pretty  good  judge  by  this 
time — thought  to  hear  murder  in  his  voice.  "  By 
my  Lord  God,  Belem,"  he  replied,  "  I  leave  you  not 
this  night."  Said  Belem,  "A  dead  man  you  remain, 
but  not  otherwise  on  my  wedding  night."  Herlouin 
laughed.  "Oh,  Belem,"  he  said,  "do  your 
murdering  on  me  if  you  can  ;  but  until  that  is  done 
or  not  done  you  do  not  touch  this  lady."  Belem 
sent  the  groom  for  his  sword,  and  Herlouin  said, 
"  Fetch  mine  also,  Simon  ;  "  but  Belem,  "  Fetch 
my  sword  only."  It  was  plain  that  he  meant  to  kill 
his  brother. 

*  Then  spoke  that  still  and  hooded  lady  Audiart. 
"  I  see  in  you.  Sir  Herlouin,  the  mettle  of  a  knight. 
Now  I  ask  you,  enter  not  the  Red  Fell,  but  leave 
me  alone  with  Sir  Belem.  To-morrow  at  the 
crowing  of  the  second  cock,  come  to  this  gate,  and 
I  will  let  you  in."  Belem  gave  a  gross  laugh,  took 
the  girl  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her.  This  made 
Herlouin  furious.  "Two  of  my  brothers  have 
saluted  you,  sister,"  he  said  ;  "  now  you  shall  greet 
me  in  like  wise."  So  said,  he  also  kissed  her  in  full 
sight  of  Belem ;  and  as  their  mouths  met  she 
whispered  to  him,  quick  and  low,  "  Trust  me, 
O  Herlouin."  Without  any  knowledge  to  bottom 
his  faith  so  he  did,  and  turned  and  went  to  his 
horse.     He  saw  her  go  in  with  Belem  ;  he  saw  the 

252 


THE  SHIPMAN'S   TALE 

torch  follow  :  the  moon  took  up  again  her  cold  spell 
over  the  world.  They  lit  no  candles  in  the  Red 
Fell ;  he  heard  nothing,  saw  nothing,  no  cry,  no 
moving  light.  With  what  spirit  he  had  in  him  he 
set  himself  to  watch  out  the  remaining  dark  hours, 
scarce  daring  to  think  of  what  might  be  doing 
within  the  house  lest  he  should  remember  what  had 
been  done  there  before. 

*  The  first  cock  crew  far  down  in  the  valley  or  ever 
the  day-dawn  shivered  in  the  east.  His  cry  found 
Herlouin  before  the  gates,  peering  for  sign  of  life  or 
some  assurance  in  the  great  blind  house  of  something 
beside  death.  Then  as  the  light  came  timorously, 
stealing  over  the  snowy  waste,  he  heard  the  sound 
of  men  riding,  who  seemed  to  be  coming  from  the 
west.  His  heart  stood  still,  for  he  thought,  "If  that 
should  be  Sagramor  my  brother,  come  to  call  me 
har  and  coward."  And  he  knew  then  that  it  could 
be  no  other,  and  dared  not  go  to  meet  him. 

'  The  second  cock  crew,  and  behold,  a  long 
splinter  of  light  stream  like  a  bar  across  the  east. 
"  Alas,  for  faith  given  fondly  !  "  said  Herlouin  to 
himself :  "  now  Sagramor  will  kill  me,  and  will  do 
well."  Even  as  he  spoke  the  gates  of  the  Red  Fell 
opened ;  there  walked  out  a  youth  clad  in  green, 
bare-headed,  pale  and  grave-eyed,  whose  hair  fell 
rippling  to   his  middle  ;  who  greeted  him,    saying, 

Bcnedicite,  Sir  Herlouin."     At  this  sight,  to  see 

253 


t< 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

Lewknor  come  out  when  Audiart  had  gone  in, 
Herlouin  reeled  in  his  saddle,  having  no  words  in 
his  throat,  nor  wit  in  his  head  to  have  conceived 
them.  At  that  time  came  riding  up  Sir  Sagramor, 
and  with  him,  marvellous  to  be  seen,  that  very  same 
youth  whom  they  took  to  be  Lewknor — bare-headed, 
pale  and  grave-eyed,  clad  in  green,  with  dark  hair 
falling  to  his  saddle-bow.  Herlouin,  gaping  from 
one  to  another,  turned  and  spurred  towards 
Sagramor.  "  Brother,  brother,  we  are  bewitched  ! 
I  came  in  with  Audiart  and  now  have  Lewknor !  " 

"  No,  no,  Herlouin,"  says  Sagramor,  "  I  have 
Lewknor  here." 

*  Says  Herlouin,  *'  Come  and  help  me  to  see 
then."  But  Sagramor  spurred  on  ahead  of  him, 
having  but  one  thought. 

'  Springing  from  his  saddle,  he  confronted  the 
youth  in  the  gate.  "  O  thou,  whoever  thou  art," 
he  said  awfully,  **  tell  me  the  fate  of  my  lady 
Audiart." 

'  The  youth  said,  "  Come  and  see."  So  Herlouin 
and  Sagramor  followed  those  other  two  into  the 
castle ;  and  over  the  inner  gate  was  a  spiked  pole, 
and  on  the  top  of  the  pole  the  head  of  Belem, 
grinning  in  death.  But  the  heads  of  all  the  sons  of 
Graceless  Guard  were  gone  from  the  spikes  where 
they  had  been  stuck,  and  so  were  the  spikes  them- 
selves. 

254 


THE   SHIPMAN'S   TALE 

'Sagramor  said  nothing,  because  he  was  thinking, 
and  Herlouin  nothing,  because  he  was  unable  to 
think ;  but  presently  Sagramor  smote  the  face  of 
Belem  with  his  gauntlet,  saying,  "  Thou  felon 
thief,  Belem.  For  this  only  I  grieve  that  it  was 
not  I  who  set  thee  there." 

*  Turning  then,  he  said  to  the  three  others, 
"  Follow  me." 

*  When  he  had  led  them  into  the  hall,  to  the  top 
of  it,  and  made  them  sit  down,  he  went  away,  and 
shortly  came  back  with  a  jug  of  wine,  some  bread 
and  apples.  They  sopped  their  bread  in  the  wine, 
and  broke  their  fast.  Then  Sagramor  took  three 
apples.  **  Catch,  Herlouin,"  he  said,  and  threw  him 
one  of  them.  So  he  said  to  the  youth  who  sat  next 
to  Herlouin,  and  so  did.  The  apple  went  low  down  ; 
but  Lewknor  (if  Lewknor  this  might  be)  clapped-to 
his  knees  and  caught  it  upon  them.  Once  more 
Sagramor  took  an  apple,  and  saying  "  Catch,  Lewk- 
nor," threw  it  to  the  second  youth.  This  other 
Lewknor,  to  receive  it,  opened  wide  his  knees,  so 
that  the  apple  fell  through  them  to  the  ground  ;  then 
instantly  Sagramor  with  a  glad  cry  sprang  up  from 
his  place  and  caught  the  bungler  kissing  in  his  arms. 
*'  Thou  art  Audiart  and  my  dear  love,"  he  cried 
exulting,  "  with  whom  I  have  journeyed  all  this 
night !  "  It  was  very  easy  to  see  the  truth  now  by 
her  manner  of  answering.     Then  Sagramor  turned 

255 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

to  the  real  Lewknor,  and  kissed  him  fondly.  "  Oh, 
thou  brave  knight/'  quoth  he,  "  here  was  honest 
trickery  indeed.  Now  tell  us  how  thou  faredst  this 
night."  So  Lewknor  told  them  what  had  passed 
between  him  and  Belem ;  how  when  they  were 
within  the  house  Belem  had  sent  the  bride  to  bed, 
and  the  bride,  obedient,  had  lain  long,  waiting  in  the 
dark.  Presently  Belem  comes  in,  ready  for  bed, 
with  a  lighted  lamp  held  on  high,  that  he  might  see 
and  not  be  seen.  What  he  saw  was  this,  a  youth  in 
green  sitting  on  the  bed  with  his  chin  on  his  knees, 
and  his  dark  hair  all  about  him  like  a  mantle. 

"  Who  art  thou  ?  "  says  Belem ;  and  the  youth, 
"  I  am  Lewknor  of  Graceless  Guard,  last  of  my 
father's  sons." 

*  "  Why  art  thou  here,  last  of  my  enemies  ?  "  says 
Belem ;  and  Lewknor  again,  "  For  my  sister's 
sake." 

' "  You  do  her  no  service,  fool,"  said  Belem ; 
**  death  is  here."  Lewknor  replied  between  his 
teeth,  "It  is  here.  Take  it,  you  big  dog";  and 
leaped  upon  him  and  bit  him  in  the  neck.  Belem 
threw  up  his  head  as  he  grappled,  and  by  that 
means  Lewknor  got  his  own  head  well  under  the 
strong  man's  chin.  Belem  struck  downwards  at  him 
with  the  lamp,  which  was  put  out ;  but  Lewknor  drew 
his  knife  and  drove  it  into  Belem's  ribs.  So  the 
tussle   was   done ;    "  and  the  end,"  says   Lewknor, 

256 


THE   SHIPMAN'S   TALE 

"you  know."  Sagramor  looked  up  with  tears.  He 
took  the  two  hands  of  Audiart  in  his  and  kissed 
them.  "  O  brave  sweet  Audiart,"  he  said,  "  now 
let  our  joint  life  make  amends  for  deaths  so  many 
and  so  bitter." 

*  "  Amen,  Sagramor,"  says  she,  "  God  helping  us." 

*  What  more  is  there  to  say  ?  There  is  nothing, 
save  this,  that  those  two  loved  greatly ;  and  that 
Lewknor  de  la  Garde,  following  the  English  fashion, 
cut  his  hair  short. 

'And  I  would  to  God,'  added  the  Shipman,  facing 
round  upon  the  unfortunate  Percival,  *  I  would  to 
God,  Jenny  Perceforest,  that  a  shorn  poll  were  all  the 
fault  which  thy  parents  might  find  in  thee  ! '  Percival 
was  only  just  in  time  to  take  his  right  foot  out  of 
Mawdleyn's  stirrup  and  by  a  gambado  forced  upon 
his  horse  to  drown  this  deep  saying  deeper  in 
sound.  Although  it  disturbed  him,  it  brought  a 
certain  relief.  He  edged  up  to  Master  Smith, 
saying,  '  My  good  companion,  I  see  now  what 
perturbs  you.  You  take  me  for  my  sister  Jane. 
Heaven  help  you,  man,  she  is  mother  of  five  by 
now.  You  will  oblige  me,  however,  by  keeping  my 
secret  for  another  day.  By  time  we  reach  the 
Shrine  of  Saint  Thomas  you  shall  do  what  you  will 
with  it.' 

The  Shipman  looked  earnestly  at  him.     '  If  so  be, 

257  R 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

Jenny,'  he  said,  '  that  thou  art  mother  of  five  lawful 
imps,  the  greater  the  shame  of  thy  polled  head. 
Where  do  I  stand  to  thee-ward  ?  What  of  old 
sakes,  old  times,  old  vows,  'twixt  thy  mouth  and  my 
mouth  ?  And  if  I  am  hurt  to  see  thee  dance  attend- 
ance upon  an  italianate  cut-throat,  an  ambusher, 
a  blood-pudding  man,  what  shall  thy  husband  do, 
and  babes  crying  at  home  ?  Fie,  Jenny,  fie  !  But, 
for  the  thought  of  old  days  dead  I  will  keep  thy 
prayer.  When  it  is  so  that  thou  comest  to  me 
petitioning,  thou  shalt  not  find  me  backward.' 

*  Benedicite  1 '  cries  poor  Percival.    *  What  more 
can  I  say  ?  ' 


258 


PERCIVAL   PERCEFORESrS 

TALE 


PERCIVAL   PERCEFOREST'S 

TALE 

*  "p*OR   our   last    tale,'    quoth    the    Prioress,    *  my 
niece  Mawdleyn  shall  choose  the  teller.' 
*Oh,  Piers,'  says  she,  '  I  choose  you.' 
'  Madame,'    said    Percival    demurely,    *  is   it   your 

pleasure  that  I  obey  Mistress  Touchett  ? ' 

*  It  is  my  pleasure,  Piers,  that  you  please  your- 
self,' the  Prioress  answered  with  a  little  soft  sigh. 
Percival  began  very  soberly. 

*  If  your  ladyships  please,  and  your  good  master- 
ships, Tacitus  saith  of  a  great  governor,  that  he 
was  ^'Omnium  consensu  capax  imperii  nisi  imperasset" ; 
a  saw  which  holds  good  of  a  certain  Count  Galeotto 
Galeotti,  gentleman  of  Mantua  in  days  gone  by. 
On  the  other  hand,  of  Eugenio,  coeval  with  him, 
if  you  are  disposed  to  cry  out — 

'' Infelix,  utcunque  ferent  ea  facta  minores  !  ** 
as  was  said   of  Lucius    Brutus    and    his   sons,  the 
reply  might  be  open  to  me  which  Livy  hath  from 
Cato    the    First,    saying,    "In    hoc    viro    tanta    vis 
ingenii  inerat,  ut  quocunque  loco  natus  esset,  sibi  ipse 

261 


NEW   CANTERBURY  TALES 

fortunam  facturus  viderehir."     But  I  am  not  to  take 

sides  :  otherwise  Eugenio ' 

Dan  Costard  here  looked  sternly  at  the  speaker, 
and  put  him  out.  '  All  this  latinity  is  mighty  fine, 
young  man,'  he  said ;  *  but  pray  do  you  remember 
our  conversation  of  overnight,  when  I  confessed 
you  ? ' 

*  Very  well  indeed,  father,'  Percival  replied,  with 
a  spirit  which  showed  most  becomingly  in  his 
cheeks.  *  Be  patient  with  me  and  you  shall  hear 
the  tale  of 

Eugenio  and  Galeotto. 

*  My  ladies,*  he  continued,  'it  may  please  you 
to  understand  that  in  the  days  of  the  fame  of 
Mantua,  when  Guido  Gonzaga  was  Duke,  and 
Petrarch  the  glorious  poet  his  friend  and  coun- 
cillor, there  was  living  in  that  spacious  city  of 
silver  and  red  a  young  gentleman  named  Galeotto 
Galeotti,  expert  in  arms,  snug  in  means,  in  person 
sleek,  in  manner  amiable,  a  very  good  friend  to 
himself;  but  most  of  all  the  servant  of  ladies. 
On  that  last  quality  he  grounded  his  hope  of 
making  a  stir  in  the  world  :  to  see  him  an  orna- 
ment of  the  Court  was  to  have  little  doubt  of 
his  success ;  to  remember  him  at  home,  pattern 
son  of  a  pattern  mother,  was  to  have  none  at  all. 
Singing  to  the  Duchess,  hawking,  riding  afield 
with  the    Duke,  he  was  gayest  of  the  gay — light- 

262 


PERCIVAL   PERCEFOREST'S   TALE 

hearted,  impertinent,  seated  dextrously  in  the 
mean,  not  quicker  than  most  to  take  offence  nor 
slower  than  any  to  give  it ;  in  a  word,  a  perfect 
Httle  point-device  knight-in-velvet.  At  home,  he 
read  the  philosophers  to  his  mother,  he  made 
little  nets  of  string  (very  useful  in  the  fruit  season 
to  keep  away  the  blackbirds),  was  a  patient  and 
not  unsuccessful  angler,  kept  the  accounts  of  the 
household  expenses  and  balanced  them  to  a 
quattrino  every  week,  and  held  discussions  with 
the  curate  after  dinner  upon  subjects  suggested 
by  the  Countess  before  she  left  the  table.  If 
a  courtier  should  be  all  things  to  all  men,  he  was 
exquisitely  a  courtier :  if  cheerful  sufferance  is  his 
badge,  that  was  the  badge  of  Galeotto  Galeotti, 
Count  of  the  Empire. 

*  It  must  further  be  said  that  if  bald  ferocity 
tempered  by  wit  is  the  sign  of  your  tyrant,  Donna 
Giacinta,  the  widowed  countess,  was  triple-crowned. 
In  those  piping  times  when  Mantua,  cradled  snug 
in  her  reedy  lagoons,  was  the  city  of  Petrarch  and 
Duke  Guido,  minstrelsy  and  art  expanded  and 
lolled  at  ease  under  his  mild  rule ;  but  the  Contessa 
Galeotti  saw  to  it  that  in  her  own  domain  art  and 
minstrelsy  wore  braces.  She  held  the  palace  of 
her  husband's  ancestors — a  proper  palace  of  stone, 
escutcheoned,  adorned  with  statues  and  classical 
inscriptions — close   to   the    Ponte    Mulina,    looking 

263 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

out  over  the  flecked  stretches  of  the  middle  lake, 
the  air  of  whose  cool  chambers  throbbed  always 
to  the  thunder  of  the  weirs,  and  very  often  to 
that  of  her  exhortation.  Nec  devs  intersit  nisi 
DiGNVS  VINDICE  NODVS,  was  the  legend  which  ran 
the  whole  length  of  the  pediment :  no  god  ever 
intervened  while  she  was  at  home ;  but  the  motto 
(apart  from  that  particular  application)  pointed 
very  well  the  character  of  a  family  always  remark- 
able for  its  submission  to  fact  and  recognition  of 
the  importance  of  Providence.  For  in  days  by- 
past,  wherever  the  service  of  high  Heaven  had 
lain,  there  had  stood  a  Galeotti  to  claim  his  wages. 
And  none  claimed  more  stoutly  or  expected  more 
deliberately  than  the  Contessa  Giacinta,  whose 
skin  was  tight  on  her  sharp  bones,  but  her  hold 
on  the  reins  of  family  tighter  still.  Over  that 
recording  house  by  the  bridge,  over  the  orange- 
garden  sloping  to  the  lagoon,  over  the  greater 
garden  (where  cypresses  and  Roman  deities  stood 
ranked,  as  for  a  game,  on  the  grass) ;  over  house 
and  land,  man-servant  and  maid-servant,  ox  and 
ass,  Donna  Giacinta  stood  with  a  staff  in  her  hand 
and  twinkling  black  eyes  in  her  head — a  stern, 
wise,  laconic  old  lady.  Nec  dens  intersit,  indeed ! 
Donna  Giacinta  was  quite  of  that  opinion,  and 
taught  it  to  the  whole  of  her  house.  The  lacqueys 
grew  acolytes,  the  maids  vestals  under  the  shadow 

264 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE 

of  her  square  jaw.  The  majordomo  had  a  sinecure 
tempered  by  severe  trembling  fits.  Most  of  all, 
the  young  lord  wore  a  face  of  beatific  suffering — 
meekness  struggling  with  enthusiasm — and  changed 
his  boots  for  slippers  whenever  he  heard  the  staff 
of  his  lady  mother  chastening  the  flags.  An  un- 
hesitating tongue,  a  piercing  eye,  a  brain  above 
the  average,  a  firm  reliance  upon  the  logic  of 
events,  and  such  a  family  motto,  are  quite  enough 
tools  to  direct  a  leopard's  claws  withal  or  bend 
demurely  the  whiskers  of  a  cat.  So,  within  doors, 
the  Contessa  Galeotti  bent  the  whiskers  of  the 
Count  her  son. 

*  Leopard  enough — "  alia  gaietta  pelle  " — the 
young  man  was  when  daily  he  left  his  mother  for 
the  service  of  his  Duke ;  and  as  for  his  whiskers, 
if  he  had  had  any,  I  assure  you  that  at  court,  with 
the  Duchess's  ladies  or  Gonzaga's  gentlemen,  they 
would  have  taken  a  very  upward  twist.  Let  it  be 
so.  "  Bloodshed,  rapine,  sudden  deaths,  breaking 
of  laws,  of  homes,  of  heads,"  said  the  Countess ; 
"  Such  things  are  the  routine  of  courts.  Break  all 
the  heads  in  Mantua  and  all  the  commandments 
in  the  world,  my  good  son  ;  but  break  none  of  mine. 
I  am  not  responsible  for  the  general  conduct  of 
the  Universe  :  you  shall  reckon  with  the  Church  for 
your  breakages  there.  Within  these  four  walls, 
however,    my   concern  is  plain :  here  you   account 

265 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

with  your  old  widowed  mother."  And  *'  Benissimo, 
mamma  mia,"  said  Galeotto  Galeotti,  Count  of  the 
Empire.  Fortified  by  which  daily  advertisements, 
daily  he  went  singing  from  the  Palazzo  Galeotti  to 
the  Corte  del  Castello. 

*  His  way  led  him,  after  skirting  for  a  few  paces 
the  water-fretted  wall  of  the  lake,  into  a  narrow 
street  which  they  of  Mantua  call,  apparently  for 
no  other  reason,  the  Via  Larga.  It  might  with 
equal  force  have  been  called  the  Via  Longa,  since 
it  is  no  more  a  long  than  a  broad  street  :  its 
name  is  really  its  only  interest.  Tall  white  houses, 
unwindowed  to  the  first  storey,  rise  on  either  side 
of  it;  these  storeys  project  upon  pillars,  and  while 
they  keep  rain  and  sun  away,  form  tunnels  for 
the  wind  and  diminish  yet  further  the  slip  of  blue 
light  you  could  hope  for  overhead.  But  they  afford 
pleasant  window-space  for  the  inhabitants.  The 
women  sit  at  work  in  them  all  day,  orientally 
recluse,  able  to  see  all  and  be  seen  little — a  state 
of  the  case  which  was  found  to  conform  at  once 
to  their  and  their  husbands'  needs.  In  that  day 
there  were  houses  of  well-to-do  merchants  in  the 
Via  Larga. 

*  It  was  down  this  little  street  of  quiet  and 
discretion,  then,  on  a  certain  spring  morning  that 
the  gallant  Galeotto  Galeotti  went  singing,  with 
May   in    his    blood,  love   in    his    mood ;    with   one 

266 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE 

green  leg  and  one  white  leg,  a  tooled  leather 
doublet,  scarlet  cloak  and  plumed  scarlet  cap  ;  his 
hair  frizzed  like  a  bryony-brake,  a  tap-a-tap  of 
sword  on  paving-stones  very  inspiriting  to  hear, 
and  a  smile  on  his  cheerful  face.  If  he 
was  not  a  handsome  he  was  a  wholesome  youth 
to  look  at.  His  teeth  were  good  when  he  laughed, 
his  eyes  grey  shot  with  light,  his  hair  brown,  his 
eyebrows,  his  ears,  all  that  they  should  be.  The 
scar  on  his  right  cheek  was  an  honourable  addition  ; 
besides,  he  could  woo  with  the  left.  Wooing 
just  now,  with  May  begun  and  his  mother  at 
home,  was  in  the  air :  he  had  a  pretty,  hunting  eye 
for  any  chances  of  the  season.  So  as  he  went 
he  searched  the  upper  windows,  like  a  falconer 
who  casts  his  bird  at  random  ;  and  in  an  upper 
window  of  the  Via  Larga  he  had  the  enchanting 
vision  of  the  back  of  a  girl's  head. 

*  In  May,  in  Mantua,  you  can  set  the  heart 
a  tune  with  less  than  that.  A  girl's  face,  even, 
would  do  it ;  but  the  back  of  a  head  is  mystery. 
Galeotto's  heart  bounded  as  he  brought  his  heels 
together  short,  to  adore  this  girl's  head.  Ostensibly 
he  looked  at  the  sky — since  one  does  not  commit 
one's  self — where  over  a  deep  blue  bed  fleeces  of 
golden  cloud  were  drifting  in  the  idle  wind ; 
actually  he  pored  upon  that  upper  window,  where 
through  the  dusty  glass  he  could  discern  the  bent, 

267 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

industrious,  pious,  pretty  liead.  It  deserved  the 
adjectives  (his  own),  for  the  prettiness  was 
undeniable,  and  the  attitude  impHed  needlework 
or  the  Hours  of  the  Virgin.  It  was  a  small  head, 
as  a  woman's  must  be,  a  round  head,  a  head  of 
brown  hair  softer  and  sunnier  than  any  of  his 
own  family ;  a  head,  finally,  whose  river  of  hair 
flowed  further  than  he  could  see,  seemed  to  be 
unconfined  and  (as  he  would  have  sworn)  to  be 
rippling  to  a  curled  end.  He  judged  it  to  be  that 
of  a  very  young  head,  and  burned  to  see  the 
face  it  curtained  so  deep.  Was  it  honey  pale,  was  it 
serious  ?  Were  the  eyes  in  it  grave  and  watchful, 
or  iridescent  with  gentle  malice  ?  or  provocative 
eyes  ?  Did  ardour  leap  in  it,  as  in  a  leash  ;  or  was 
it  rosy,  perhaps,  with  laughter  in  the  curves  and 
mischief  in  the  dimples,  which  (like  eddies)  play 
about  a  girl's  quick  face  ?  Thus  very  Mayishly  he 
mused;  and  just  then  saw  the  head  uplift,  strain 
back  against  the  window  and  rest  there  inert,  while 
the  hair,  flattened  by  the  pressure,  made  an  aureole 
for  this  young  saint.  Our  youth  was  thrown  into 
a  sympathetic  ecstasy — and  certainly  the  figure  is 
a  beautiful  one ;  he  addressed  the  skies.  "  Oh, 
thou  Well  of  Pity,"  he  said,  "  thy  postulant  is 
weary  of  beseeching  thee !  Or  like  a  nymph, 
whom  some  grudging  peasant  has  caught  in  the 
pastures  and  caged,  she   beats  at  the  bars  of  her 

268 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE 

growing  body,  restless  for  her  proper  food  !  "  I  think 
that  here  he  strained  the  figure ;  but  he  was  very 
much  excited.  "  By  the  Light  upon  Paphos,"  he 
swore,  "  I  must  see  that  sainted  face  !  " 

'  Some  such  authority  gave  him  the  chance ;  for 
a  heavy  porter,  lurching  up  the  Via  Larga  with 
a  bale  on  his  shoulder,  drove  him  suddenly  to  the 
wall. 

*  "  Zounds !  you  mole,"  cried  Galeotto,  "  must 
j'ou  for  ever  blunder  and  gentlemen  pay  the  bill  ? 
For  three  seeds  of  cummin  I  would  run  you  through 
the  ribs." 

'  One  or  two  foot  passengers  stopped  to  listen. 

*  "  My  lord,"  said  the  porter  respectfully,  "  the 
proportion  is  immoderate,  as  is  your  pursuit  of 
science.  For  an  astronomer,  as  I  take  your  honour 
to  be,  the  night  is  your  time  for  observations.  You 
are  out  of  season,  my  lord,  and  thanks  to  me  also, 
your  honour  is  now  out  of  the  road." 

*  An  old  friar  who  was,  or  should  have  been, 
passing,  laughed  at  this  sally,  and  so  laid  the  lines 
of  the  great  train  of  logic  I  am  about  to  draw. 
For  it  is  quite  certain  that  if  the  friar  had  not 
laughed  the  porter  had  not  bled,  that  if  the  porter 

had  not  bled,  Isotta  had  not .     But  I  anticipate. 

It  is  also  clear  that  if  to  be  bumped  out  of  a  love- 
ecstasy  is  offensive,  to  be  laughed  at  is  maddening : 
one  act  of  madness  is  to  think  red,  the  next  is  to 

269 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

see  it.  Messer  Galeotto,  greatly  nettled,  drew  his 
sword;  it  came  out  with  a  sound  of  swhh,  and 
went  in  below  the  porter's  ribs  with  a  sound  of 
slick.  The  porter  cried  "  Misericordia !  "  and  the 
crowd,  "  Gesu  !  "  The  street  filled,  all  heads  were 
out  of  window,  among  them  the  fair  young  head 
of  the  devotee  who  had  innocently  caused  these 
griefs.  That  would  have  been  the  moment  for 
Galeotto  to  continue  his  observations  of  the  blue, 
and  to  do  him  justice  he  used  it  so,  until  the 
things  of  earth — a  posse  of  the  watch — engrossed 
his  thoughts  by  encompassing  his  body.  He  did 
see,  in  a  flash,  an  eager  face,  all  fire,  intelligence 
and  expectancy;  he  did  see,  for  a  second  of  time, 
a  pair  of  red  parted  lips,  a  pair  of  wide  eyes,  a  fine 
young  neck  on  the  stretch,  a  stream  of  light  on 
a  pretty  shape,  a  vision  of  softness  and  white :  but 
no  more  could  he  see,  for  the  blades  were  out.  He 
was  engaged,  amid  the  gutturals  of  a  delighted 
mob,  in  cloak  and  sword  work.  His  back  was  to 
the  lady's  door,  his  crooked  left  formed  a  screen 
for  his  digging  right ;  the  swords  glinted  and 
shivered,  the  crowd  surged,  blood  flowed ;  the 
porter's  body  might  yet  have  been  floated  out  to 
the  placid  reaches  of  the  lagoon.  In  any  case  it 
must  have  gone  ill  with  our  Count  of  the  Empire 
who,  if  he  could  fight  his  man,  could  not  possibly 
fight  his  half  dozen.      So  the  lady  seems  to  have 

270 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE 

thought.  "  They  will  kill  him  unless  I  interfere, 
Nencina,"  she  cried,  half  turning  to  the  room. 
The  room  must  have  shrugged,  for  she  did  so  ; 
and  went  on  to  watch  the  desperate  adventure 
below.  Presently,  "  This  is  foolishness,"  she  was 
heard  to  say  to  herself;  then  she  turned  altogether 
and  disappeared.  In  a  few  minutes  more  the  bolts 
flew  back,  the  door  opened ;  she  received  into  her 
arms  the  honourable  burden  of  Galeotto's  back. 
Stumbling  in,  blessed  beyond  his  hopes,  deep  in 
porter's  blood  and  his  own,  deeper  in  love,  but 
deepest  in  peril  of  the  cage,  the  youth  had  sufficient 
wit  left  to  play  the  part  of  prudence  before  he 
declared  himself  a  lover.  He  pushed-to  the  door, 
barred  it,  bolted  it ;  then  fell  upon  one  knee  before 
his  preserver,  and  slightly  varying  the  legend  of  his 
house,  did  deprecating  homage  with  the  words, 
"Nee  dea  intersit  nisi  digmis  vindice  nodus." 

'  With  the  watch  thundering  at  the  door  the 
time  was  ill-judged  for  paraphrase  ;  the  young  lady 
looked  calmly  at  Galeotto.  "  I  am  no  latinist,  sir," 
she  replied  ;  "  but  I  suppose  you  refer  to  the  death 
of  the  porter.  He  was  in  my  father's  employment 
— a  useful  man.  However,  we  have  a  substitute  in 
you.  You  are  wounded,  I  see.  This  noise  is 
deafening.  Come  away  from  the  door  and  I  will 
help  you  as  much  as  I  can." 

' "  Madonna,     the     wound     is     internal,"      said 

271 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

Galeotto,    still   kneeling :    "  it   is   in   the   region    of 
the  heart." 

*  The  lady  looked  grave.  "  It  is  worse  than  I 
thought,"  she  said.     "  But  I  will  do  my  best." 

' "  Ah,  your  least  is  my  salvation !  "  cried  the 
happy  youth,  and  kissed  her  hand.  She  received 
the  homage  with  great  composure  :  but  affairs  were 
really  urgent. 

*  "  At  this  rate,"  said  she,  "  we  may  expect  the 
door  down  and  a  full  house  in  twenty  minutes. 
It  is  no  time  for  gallantry.  Please  to  follow  me." 
Galeotto  obeyed  her  as  rapturously  as  a  stiff  leg 
allowed.  She  took  him  without  a  word  to  that 
upper  room  whose  depths  a  little  while  before  had 
thrilled  him  with  romantic  imagining.  Once  there, 
he  submitted  to  her  ministry,  finding  in  every  little 
cry  of  concern,  every  wave  of  her  sympathy,  every 
pass  of  her  deft  hands,  quick  poise  of  the  head  or 
touch  of  her  gentle  fingers,  matter  for  ravishment 
of  sense  or  stuff  for  a  madrigal.  He  had  not  come 
unscarred  from  the  tussle.  His  dress  was  dis- 
ordered, his  hair  gave  shocks.  He  had  lost  his 
plumed  cap,  his  white  leg  was  speckled  here  and 
there  with  porter's  blood,  down  his  green  leg 
meandered  his  own  like  a  lazy  brook  among  water- 
meadows.  One  shoe  had  been  in  the  gutter,  one 
was  still  there;  his  cloak  was  pricked  like  a  pounce- 
box.      The   young   lady,    kneeling   on   the   floor   in 

272 


PERCIVAL   PERCEFOREST'S   TALE 

front  of  him,  pinched  her  red  lip  as  she  considered 
his  case. 

* "  Why  did  you  kill  the  porter  ?  "  she  presently 
asked  him.  Her  eyes,  clear,  green  and  steadfast, 
made  his  heart  jump.  They  made  him,  also,  reason 
a  priori  against  the  truth  and  the  best  systems  of 
philosophy ;  they  made  him  answer  her  as  he 
thought  her  beauty  deserved. 

* "  Can  you  ask  me,  Madonna  ? "  he  replied. 
"  It  was  that  the  sound  of  his  fall  might  cause  you 
to  turn  your  head." 

* "  I  think  it  has  turned  your  own,"  said  the  lady, 
"  for  I  find  your  reason  a  poor  one ;  and  I  hope  you 
perceive  how  I  am  involved  in  the  scrape.  If  you 
cannot  remain  here,  certainly  I  cannot  either.  My 
father,  it  is  true,  set  a  high  value  upon  that  porter ; 
but  he  sets  a  higher  value  on  me.  To  have  me 
haled  before  the  Podesta  in  his  absence,  or  set  to 
huddle  in  the  cage  with  an  unknown  gentleman, 
would  do  him  a  mortal  injury  and  be  a  sorry  return 
for  all  his  affection.  I  must  go  away  for  a  time, 
and  the  sooner  the  better." 

'  "  I,  too,  must  go  away,"  said  Galeotto,  trembHng. 
"  It  will  be  impossible  for  me  to  face  my  mother  in 
this  state,  equally  so  to  attend  the  Duke's  levee. 
Oh,  Madonna ! "  he  cried  suddenly,  "  Let  us  fly 
together !  " 

*  The  lady  considered  the  position ;  her  head,  held 

273  S 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

sideways,  looked  charmingly  wise.  The  rough  music 
of  the  street  continued. 

* "  The  door  must  fall  in  ten  minutes,"  she  said. 
**  It  is  time  to  act.  Where  do  you  propose  to  take 
shelter?" 

*"A  swamp  were  paradise  by  your  side!" 
exclaimed  Galeotto.  "  But  I  suggest  Venice,  where 
I  have  a  relative  in  good  odour  with  the  Signiory. 
Widow  of  my  cousin  Raniero,  she  is  called  Donna 
Camilla,  a  lady  as  handsome  as  she  is  young,  as 
rich  as  she  is  hospitable — at  least,  so  she  is  reported. 
If  we  could  leave  Mantua  we  should  be  safe  with 
her ;  and  with  you,  lady,  for  my  bride " 

*  He  stopped  unachieved  because  the  lady  looked 
at  him  in  a  peculiar  way.  It  was  curiously  the  look 
of  his  mother  the  Countess  if  he  ventured  the 
suggestion  that  peaches  in  the  garden  were  meant 
to  be  eaten.  The  Countess  had  looked  :  "  Let  me 
find  you  eating  one,  my  son."  So  looked  this 
young  lady. 

*  **  What  you  say  is  excellent  sense  up  to  a  point," 
said  she  ;  "  beyond  it  I  reserve  my  comments.  But 
I  think  I  will  go  to  Venice,  and  to  your  cousin 
Donna  Camilla.  It  will  be  necessary  for  you  to 
lend  me  your  clothes  and  name.  What,  may  I  ask, 
is  the  latter  ?  " 

' "  It  is  Count  Galeotto  Galeotti,  most  adorable 
ady  !  "  cried  the  Count.     "  But  when  you  have  had 

274 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE 

it  for  a  little  while  it  will  be  Saint  Galeotto,  and 
my  poor  clothes  will  be  relics." 

* "  They  are  not  much  better  now,  thanks  to  your 
precipitation,"  said  she ;  "  but  they  must  serve  me 
for  default  of  others.  Honestly,  I  see  no  shorter 
way  out  of  the  mess.  But  if  I  am  you,  what  will 
you  be  ?  " 

* "  Sacred  lady,"  he  replied,  **  if  you  go  in  my 
person,  I  must  go  in  another's.  That  is  a  plain 
inference.  Now,  since  I  am  utterly  your  servant, 
let  me  go  with  truth.     I  will  go  as  your  servant." 

* "  Nothing  could  suit  me  so  well,"  said  the  lady 
"  My  real  name  is  Isotta  Beltraffi ;  but  while  I  am 
Count  Galeotti  (which  I  hope  will  not  be  for  long), 
you  shall  be  my  servant  Fabrizio.     That  was  the 
porter's  name." 

*"  Happy,  happy  Fabrizio  !  "  cried  the  enchanted 
young  man  ;  "  Now  art  thou  in  paradise,  Fabrizio  !  " 

'  "  I  sincerely  hope  so,"  said  Isotta.  "  But  I  per- 
ceive that  they  have  got  the  door  down.  We  have 
no  time  to  lose.  Kindly  follow  me :  you  must 
remove  your  clothes  while  I  find  you  some  which 
suit  your  new  station  in  life.  We  have  a  boat  on 
the  lagoon  which  will  take  us  safely  over." 

'  So  saying  she  conducted  him  to  a  remote  part 
of  the  house ;  and  while  the  police  were  unmasking 
the  servants  below,  the  real  actors  in  the  drama 
were  masking  above. 

275 


NEW   CANTERBURY  TALES 

*A  sandolo  lay  close  under  the  wall,  and  was 
reached  easily  from  a  little  window.  The  new 
Galeotto,  the  new  Fabrizio,  found  no  difficulties 
which  could  not  be  surmounted,  though  the  heart 
of  one  at  least  was  often  in  his  mouth.  The  master 
sat  cloaked  in  the  well ;  the  man  took  the  poop  to 
work  the  oar.  They  slipped  along  under  the  lee  of 
the  houses  until,  having  passed  a  jutting  corner, 
they  opened  the  belfry  of  Santa  Barbara ;  then, 
striking  boldly  across,  they  shot  the  Ponte  San 
Giorgio  by  a  middle  arch,  and  found  themselves  far 
from  pursuit  in  the  lower  lake.  Here  safety  was. 
They  navigated  it  from  end  to  end ;  instead  of 
slipping  into  the  reeds  on  the  further  shore,  grown 
bold  by  use,  they  took  the  quay  at  San  Vito,  left 
the  boat,  walked  across  the  fields  to  Sustinente, 
and  there  hired  a  bark  and  two  rowers  to  take 
them  down  the  Po.  It  is  proper  to  say  that  the 
pretended  Galeotto  directed  all  these  simple  opera- 
tions ;  the  real  was  for  hiding  in  every  pollard  they 
came  by.     Isotta  laughed  at  him. 

'  "  It  is  as  well  that  you  play  servant  in  our 
affairs,"  she  said :  "  we  should  both  be  in  the 
Gabbia  by  this  time  if  I  had  followed  your  rules. 
Can  you  not  understand  that  two  men  lurking  in 
a  small  tree  must  always  make  a  curious,  and 
generally  a  suspicious  appearance,  whereas  walking 
on    a   hard    road    they    are    nothing    out    of    the 

276 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE 

ordinary?      And    you    are   a   courtier,   and    I   the 
daughter  of  a  woolcarder  !     What  am  I  to  think  ?  " 
'  **  You   are  to  think   that   your   beauty  has   en- 
grossed my  wits,  Madonna,  if  you  think  of  me  at 
all,"  said  the  enamoured  Galeotto. 

*  "  If  I  were  to  think  of  you  seriously,"  replied 
Isotta,  "  I  should  relinquish  the  adventure.  My 
beauty,  as  you  call  it,  has  more  important  things  to 
do  than  to  engross  what  wits  you  have  left.  I  have 
never  been  to  Venice,  and  as  for  your  cousin  Donna 
Camilla,  who  is  now  to  be  my  cousin,  I  had  never 
heard  of  her  until  an  hour  ago.  Please  to  tell  me 
something  more  precise  about  her." 

*  "  Oh,  set  me  harder  tasks,  most  lovely  master  !  " 
cried  Galeotto. 

* "  I  will  at  need,  I  assure  you,"  said  Isotta. 
"  Meantime  oblige  me  in  this  particular." 

*  Galeotto  complied.  But  I  think  your  ladyships 
will  do  better  with  my  account. 

*  Donna  Camilla,  then,  was  a  dove-eyed,  dimpled 
lady  of  not  more  than  twenty-five  years  old,  widow 
of  a  dead  Raniero  Galeotti,  a  famous  captain  of  the 
Republic's,  much  older  than  his  wife — a  man  of 
energy,  a  man  of  some  violence,  a  man  of  white 
hairs.  He  had  been  exorbitantly  fond  of  her  in  his 
lifetime,  had  made  her  so  comfortable,  and  by  his 
death  left  her  so,  that  although  she  had  been  three 
years  a  widow  she  had  seen  no  reason  to  change  her 

277 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

estate.  Quite  otherwise :  common  gratitude  sug- 
gested that  she  should  continue  to  mourn  a  man 
whose  demise  had  been  of  such  extreme  advantage. 
A  palace  on  the  Rio  Pantaleone,  a  domain  (with 
a  summer  villa)  at  Bassano,  a  houseful  of  old  (and 
quiet)  servants,  her  wishes  foreseen,  her  whims 
condoned,  a  large  number  of  suitors,  and  the  memory 
of  her  windy  old  lord  to  make  their  daily  rejection 
at  once  luxury  and  sacrifice : — what  more  could 
Donna  Camilla  want  ?  Absolutely  nothing,  she 
declared.  She  was  her  own  lover  ;  more  than  that, 
her  servants  were  so  old,  so  much  in  authority,  yet 
so  indulgent,  that  her  position  was  rather  that  of 
a  lapped  favourite  than  a  mistress ;  she  was  like 
a  pet  child  with  twenty  fathers  and  four-and-twenty 
mothers  instead  of  an  ordinary  couple.  Two  de- 
mands upon  society  are  made  by  a  Donna  Camilla 
— fondling,  and  an  object  of  gentle  tears.  She  got 
the  first  at  home ;  the  second  she  found  in  a  portly 
alabaster  monument  which  she  had  caused  to  be 
set  up  in  the  Church  of  Saint  John  and  Saint  Paul. 
To  exchange  this  ease  and  security  for  a  new 
Venetian  lord  was  not  at  all  to  her  mind.  Such  an 
one  would  expect  more  than  tears ;  he  would  only 
fondle  while  expectation  remained.  Expectation 
satisfied,  the  object  reduced  into  possession,  love 
would  fly  out  of  window  and  the  noble  Venetian  be 
free  for  commerce.      If  she  knew  her  countrymen 

278 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE 

this  was  certain  :  there  were  not  many  Don  Ranieros 
in  Venice.  Having  such  views,  it  is  not  to  be 
wondered  at  that  Donna  Camilla  remained  sole. 
She  was  never  tired  of  enlarging  to  her  new  maid 
Estella  upon  her  exact  advantages. 

*  "  I  am  here,"  she  said,  "  as  snug  as  a  fish  in  the 
sea.  There  is  no  romance  in  Venice ;  nothing  but 
fishing.  Is  not  marriage  a  net  ?  Some  day  you 
will  know  it,  child,  as  well  as  I  do." 

*  But  Estella,  a  pretty  young  woman,  hung  her 
head  and  sighed.  Marriage  was  precisely  the  net 
in  which  she  hoped  to  entangle  Donna  Camilla. 

*  I  would  not  on  any  account  deceive  your  lady- 
ships. Estella,  as  well  as  being  the  youngest  maid 
in  Donna  Camilla's  service,  was  the  son  of  a  gon- 
dolier of  San  Nicolo — a  lad  of  parts  who,  having 
been  egged  on  to  precocity  by  the  attentions  of  his 
quarter,  had  flattered  himself  into  a  passion  for  the 
lady  of  Don  Raniero,  and  for  a  year  or  two  paid  her 
such  homage  as  he  could.  This  had  been  very 
innocently  accepted  on  her  part,  since  she  knew 
nothing  in  the  world  about  it.  The  Dominicans, 
who  had  taught  him  his  book,  had  encouraged  his 
singing-voice  and  put  him  in  the  choir.  In  time  he 
had  been  advanced  to  be  assistant  to  the  sacristan 
of  Saint  John  and  Saint  Paul.  As  such,  he  had 
first  seen  Donna  Camilla,  as  such  performed  his 
small  office  at  the  obsequies  of  Don  Raniero,  and 

279 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

stood  by  sympathetically  whenever,  after  that, 
Donna  Camilla  had  deplored  his  remains.  He  was 
diligent  in  small  services — dusted  the  pavement  for 
her  knees,  bowed  her  from  and  to  her  gondola, 
polished  the  handsome  sarcophagus,  the  shining 
alabaster  bosom,  the  shining  head  of  the  effigy, 
sniffed  once  or  twice  a  day  in  accord  with  her  sighs ; 
these  things  he  did  until  he  believed  himself  her 
lover.  And  because  to  think  yourself  a  thing 
is  to  be  that  thing,  her  lover  (at  this  distance)  he 
actually  was.  Now  to  love  is  to  desire,  and  to 
desire  to  grow.     To  grow  is  to  need  new  clothes. 

*  Eugenio,  that  was  his  true  name,  apart  from 
his  humble  station  in  life,  felt  that  he  had  more 
to  recommend  him  than  his  gains  represented. 
He  was  very  good  looking,  very  intelligent  ;  he 
took  himself  very  seriously,  knew  himself  very 
prudent.  "  The  problem  before  me,"  he  told 
himself,  *'  is  how  to  see  my  adorable  mistress 
without  risk  of, observation.  One  does  not  marry 
precipitately,  blindly ;  and  here  in  the  church  I 
see  but  one  side  of  her — the  pious.  It  would  be 
only  right — if  I  am  to  commit  myself — that  I  should 
consider  her  in  moments  of  relaxation — gay,  dis- 
creet, witty,  ardent,  as  I  am  sure  she  must  some- 
times be.  The  difficulties  of  drawing  her  into 
a  general  conversation  when  she  is  lamenting 
departed   merit   are   extreme.     You   cannot   expect 

280 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE 

her  to  detach  herself  from  her  surroundings  ;  the 
transition  is  too  abrupt,  hardly  delicate,  even.  On 
the  other  hand,  to  engage  her  outside,  in  the  piazza, 
on  the  riva,  when  she  steps  into  or  out  of  her 
gondola — that  would  be  to  expose  myself,  possibly 
to  ridicule,  certainly  to  a  rebuff  or  rebuffs.  Con- 
versation would  be  forced ;  I  should  not  do  myself 
justice,  nor  would  she.  Then  there  is  another 
thing.  Assume  she  pleases,  assume  I  advance : 
the  advantages  I  have  to  offer  her — devotion,  some 
natural  shrewdness,  youth,  a  handsome  person — 
need  gradual  discovery  for  their  efficiency.  They 
are  like  slow-ripening  fruits,  which  need  warmth 
and  light  for  maturity.  To  fall  on  my  knees,  to 
clasp  hers,  to  press  her  hand,  to  weep  before  her — 
anyone  can  play  such  antics ;  I'll  be  bound  to  say 
that  some  hundreds  have  played  them.  And  with 
what  result  ?  With  none.  No,  no ;  that  is  not 
the  way  to  work.  The  same  good  genius  which 
counsels  me  to  consider  the  lady's  character  urges 
the  greatest  deliberation  in  revealing  my  passion." 

*  He  thought  long  and  carefully  over  the  problem 
before  he  hit  upon  the  plan  which  places  him  so 
hopefully  before  us  ;  it  was  indeed  a  chance  inquiry 
of  the  lady's  directed  to  his  Sacristan,  for  a  respect- 
able young  maid  to  act  in  the  still-room,  which 
finally  decided  him.  "  Very  properly,"  Donna 
Camilla  had  said,   "  I  have    kept  on  all    my   good 

281 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

husband's  servants.  Poor  dear!  they  have  grown 
up  with  him ;  and  now  he  has  given  them  the 
slip.  They  make  me  very  comfortable,  are  all 
that  servants  should  be ;  but  they  are  far  from 
sprightly.  And  while  I  should  never  suffer  a  new- 
comer to  encroach  upon  their  rights,  to  be  about 
my  immediate  person,  for  instance,  yet  they  cannot 
live  for  ever ;  and  it  is  a  bad  thing  for  a  widow  to 
let  her  weeds  encumber  her.  I  need  a  little  worldly 
conversation  now  and  again — not  ceremonious  or 
courtly,  of  which  I  have  more  than  enough,  but 
familiar  without  being  licentious,  jocularity  robbed 
of  its  vulgar  sting.  Find  me  a  decent  young  woman 
for  training,  Don  Ruggiero,  if  you  can."  The  decent 
young  woman  who  waited  upon  Donna  Camilla 
next  day  was  Eugenio,  and  not  of  Don  Ruggiero's 
recommendation  :  he  was  engaged  upon  the  spot. 

*  The  lady  had  never  regretted  it.  Estella  was 
a  charming  companion,  a  good  needle-woman,  had 
great  taste  as  a  dressmaker,  was  industrious, 
discreet,  trustworthy :  upon  occasion  her  faculty 
of  humorous  observation  was  a  delight  to  her 
mistress.  Eugenio,  too,  was  perfectly  contented  : 
he  was  more  and  more  satisfied  with  the  mind  and 
person  of  Donna  Camilla.  It  is  true,  he  stood  in 
a  very  humble  capacity,  never  as  yet  in  one  of 
confidential  service.  He  knew  that  he  was  on 
promotion ;    but   he   saw   the   lady   of    his   choice, 

282 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE 

talked  with  her,  wrote  her  notes,  accompanied  her 
in   her  walks    on   the    Piazza,    went   with    her   to 
church,  made  her  clothes,  and  so  on.     He  was  no 
nearer  to  declaration,  of  course ;    seeing   that  she 
had  no  conception   that  he  was   not    Estella,  one 
would  be  inclined  to  say  she  could  have  none  that 
he   was   really  Eugenio.      Perhaps  the  youth    had 
a  relish  for  mystery :  it  is  said  to  be  the  root  of  all 
the  romance  and  half  the  love-affairs  of  the  world. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  this  was  the  position  of  Donna 
Camilla's  household  upon  the  day  of  the  arrival  of 
a     letter,    brought     by    a     heated    messenger,    to 
announce  the  presence  in  Venice  of  her  cousin,  Don 
Galeotto  Galeotti,    attended   by  his    servant.     The 
writer  implored   his  kinswoman's   hospitality   until 
a  certain  local  storm  in   Mantua  had  blown  over : 
he  expressed  himself  with  vivacity  and  point. 

*  "  My  cousin  writes  a  brisk  letter,"  said  Donna 
Camilla,  "which  savours  (but  not  unpleasantly) 
of  impertinence.  What  have  I  to  do  with  the 
weather  in  Mantua?  He  is  probably  very  young  : 
I  hope  his  servant  is  less  so.  I  have  to  think  of 
you,  child."  Estella,  not  best  pleased,  had  to  think 
of  her  mistress.  She  was  bid  write  a  letter  to 
Galeotto  at  his  inn  assuring  him  of  a  friendly 
welcome.     About  noon  he  came. 

'  All  doubts  as  to  his  youth  and  impertinence 
were  immediately  set  at  rest.     He  had  both ;  but 

283 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

wore  them  so  pleasantly  that  one  would  have 
regretted  their  absence.  The  servant,  Donna 
Camilla  was  pleased  to  see,  seemed  a  backward 
fellow.  Don  Galeotto  came  quickly  forward  into 
the  hall  and  kissed  his  cousin  on  both  cheeks. 

*  "  The  deaths  of  fifty  porters,"  he  said  gallantly, 
**  would  not  have  been  too  great  a  price  for  this. 
Besides,  cousins  have  a  blood-tie,  not  always 
recognized,  to  which  that  of  a  porter  or  two  may 
well  be  sacrificed."  He  kissed  Donna  Camilla 
again,  then  let  his  tongue  run  on  to  the  wonders  of 
Venice. 

*"A  well-set  jewel  indeed,  this  Venice!"  he 
exclaimed.  "  What !  an  opal  to  swim  in  a  bed  of 
saphire  !  Your  canals  are  streams  of  blue  wonder, 
your  palaces  fired  pearls — by  which  understand 
opals,  dear  Camilla.  We  came  by  the  lagoon 
from  Adria ;  we  saw  your  Venice  resting  in  the 
water  like  a  sea-bird,  a  flake,  a  white  roseleaf  adrift 
in  hyacinth  !  And  within  your  walls,  fresh  delight. 
What  deep  spaces,  what  shade,  what  rest !  What 
queenly  hostesses  !  "  Here  he  pressed  Donna 
Camilla's  hand.  "  What  fresh  maids ! "  And 
here  he  patted  Estella's  cheek.  "  Cousin  Camilla," 
he  assured  her,  "  the  death  of  a  porter  took  me 
from  Mantua ;  suicide  only  will  sever  me  from 
Venice.  It  is  a  beautiful  thought  that  one  and  the 
same    act   have   won  paradise  for  a  man   and   his 

284 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE 

killer."  So  he  ran  on,  talking  a  language  which 
was  implicity  flattering  if  explicitly  Greek  to  Donna 
Camilla  (who  knew  nothing  of  Mantuan  porters), 
but  was  at  all  events  extremely  exhilarating  and 
pleasant.  She  offered  him  a  collation ;  he  took  her 
hand. 

* "  If  you  will  be  my  partner,  cousin,  we  will 
collate  all  the  afternoon,"  he  said.  "  Let  my 
servant  dispose  of  himself  to  your  least  annoyance. 
He  must  make  purchases  for  me  before  nightfall : 
I  left  Mantua  hurriedly.  But  I  can  tell  you  all 
that  at  table.  Thank  Heaven  for  the  gift  of 
tongues." 

'"Heaven  has  enriched  you  indeed,  Galeotto," 
said  Donna  Camilla.  Then  to  her  maid.  "  Estella, 
take  the  Signor  Conte's  man  to  the  still-room, 
and  see  that  he  wants  for  nothing." 

' "  His  name  is  Fabrizio,"  said  the  surprising 
cousin :  "  he  will  have  a  pretty  hostess.  Fabrizio, 
remember  that  the  man  is  ape  of  his  master. 
Ape  me  with  discretion,  if  you  please,  for  the 
credit  of  Mantua."  He  then  followed  Donna 
Camilla  to  the  Salotto,  leaving  a  very  rueful 
man  to  the  attentions  of  a  very  unwilling  maid. 

'  Whatever  the  poets  may  say,  it  a  mistake  to 
press  analogies  home :  the  disadvantages  of  being 
a  servant  when  you  are  properly  a  lover  are  made 
manifest   when    the   dream    becomes    fact.      Here 

285 


NEW   CANTERBURY  TALES 

was  a  pair  of  lovers,  at  any  rate,  indifferently  pleased 
by  the  turn  of  affairs ;  one  separated  from  his 
mistress,  the  other  as  near  to  her,  indeed,  as  ever, 
but  in  a  very  critical  situation,  unable  to  push  his 
reasonable  claims.  The  pretended  Fabrizio  barely 
saw  his  beloved  Isotta;  the  pretended  Estella 
enjoyed  more,  but  also  he  suffered  more.  He  was 
desperately  jealous  of  the  lively  young  gentleman 
who,  as  the  days  went  on,  grew  to  be  on  such 
familiar  terms  with  Donna  Camilla.  Fabrizio  was 
jealous  also,  but  not  on  a  sure  ground  ;  the  utmost 
he  could  say  was  that  what  he  knew  to  be  innocent 
the  actors  did  not  know.  But  Estella  (who  knew 
less  than  he)  saw  the  very  fabric  of  his  plans 
crumble  before  his  eyes  ;  they  could  have  dissolved 
no  faster  if  Eugenio  had  remained  Eugenio.  His 
was  the  more  desperate  situation ;  it  made  him 
a  morose  companion  for  the  still-room,  where 
Fabrizio  sat  gloomily  day  by  day,  unamused  and 
unamusing.  It  was  on  the  edge  of  his  tongue  to 
confide  in  the  valet ;  sometimes  he  had  hopes  that 
his  romantic  history  might  appeal  to  him ;  but 
Fabrizio  seemed  to  hold  him  off  in  some  unaccount- 
able way,  and  to  belie  all  he  had  ever  heard  of  the 
assurance  of  gentlemen's  gentleman.  With  Donna 
Camilla  he  had  chances  now  and  again  of  putting 
in  a  seasonable  word.  He  ventured  one  evening 
to  throw  doubts  upon  the  young  Count's  ingenuous- 

286 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE 

ness.  *'  My  lady,"  said  he,  "  a  nobleman  who  can 
kill  a  porter  to  make  a  lady  (not  your  ladyship, 
observe)  turn  her  head  round  must  be  one  of  two 
things — so  careless  of  life  as  to  be  unworthy  to  keep 
it,  or  so  curious  in  love  as  to  be  dangerous  to  our 
sex.     At  least,  it  seems  so  to  me." 

* "  Why,  girl,"  said  Donna  Camilla,  *'  have  you 
had  a  tiff  with  Fabrizio  that  you  decry  gallantry  ? 
I  thought  in  your  class  you  valued  a  swain  by  the 
length  of  his  arm." 

'  "  Some  may  do  so,  madama,"  replied  the  maid  ; 
"  but  I  think  a  long  head  is  the  better  property. 
Long  ears  often  go  with  long  arms." 

*  "  Long  tongues  appear  to  go  with  maids,"  said 
Donna  Camilla,  nettled  :  "  Estella,  you  are  hurting 
me  detestably.  I  hate  clumsy  fingers."  Estella  was 
silenced. 

'  On  his  side  Fabrizio  was  sinking  into  a  settled 
melancholy.  Absence  from  his  mother  may  have 
had  much  to  do  with  it;  absence  from  the 
court,  of  which  he  was  such  a  real  ornament, 
a  little ;  no  doubt,  the  growing  intimacy  of  Donna 
Camilla  and  his  mistress  had  most  of  all.  He 
honestly  admired  Donna  Camilla.  What  em- 
barrassed him  was,  that  just  what  Isotta  seemed 
to  him.  Donna  Camilla  found  her  also,  and  that  just 
as  he  found  Donna  Camilla  delightful,  so  Isotta 
seemed  to  delight  in  her.     After  a  little  while  letters 

287 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

began  to  arrive  from  Mantua,  addressed  in  a  hand 
which  he  knew  very  well,  to  Count  Galeotto 
Galeotti.  His  mother  !  He  was  on  the  point  of 
opening  the  first  of  these  when  Estella  happened 
to  look  over  his  shoulder.  "Hey!  "  said  this  pert 
young  woman,  **  What  are  you  about,  Fabrizio  ? 
Is  this  the  way  of  Mantuan  lacqueys?  Read  your 
master's  letters?  You  will  be  serenading  his 
mistress  next."  Galeotto  had  no  choice  but  to  take 
Isotta  his  mother's  letter,  to  stand  by  while  she 
broke  the  seal  and  galloped  through  the  contents, 
to  see  her  crush  it  up  and  throw  it  in  the  fire,  and 
to  be  dismissed  with  the  curtest  nod  he  had  ever 
seen  imperil  the  urbanity  of  a  lady.  This  was  very 
mortifying,  yet  worse  was  to  come.  It  seems  that 
so  soon  as  the  Countess  had  ascertained  the  where- 
abouts of  her  son,  she  fired  off  letter  after  letter 
to  Venice.  All  these  Isotta  read,  many  of  them 
she  discussed  candidly  with  Donna  Camilla.  Her 
references  to  his  mother  always  amazed  and  some- 
times shocked  him. 

'  "  The  old  dragoon  has  the  gout,  cousin,"  Isotta 
would  say.     The  old  dragoon  ! 

'  "  Mantua  is  in  a  ferment,"  he  learned  at  another 
reading.  "  They  threaten  my  mother  with  the 
question.  The  cage  may  be  her  fate  yet."  The 
question !  The  cage  for  his  mother !  The  thing 
was  getting  most  serious.     He  had  yet  to  learn  that 

288 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE 

at  serious  times  Isotta  husbanded  her  words.  That 
day  came  when,  on  the  receipt  of  a  shortish  letter, 
she  pinched  her  pretty  Hp.  Donna  Camilla, 
looking  over  her  shoulder,  shrieked,  then  grew 
tremulous.  Tears  filled  her  eyes :  "  Dear,  dearest 
Galeotto,  we  will  suffer  together !  "  she  urged : 
*'  Oh,  give  me  that  poor  right !  "  Whereupon  Isotta 
kissed  her ;  and  then,  with  intention,  dismissed 
Fabrizio.  Donna  Camilla  took  the  hint,  and  dis- 
missed Estella,  who  had  been  panting  by  the  wall. 
The  disconsolate  pair  of  servants  strayed  into  the 
garden.  Estella  sat  down  on  the  nearest  seat  and 
began  to  kick  holes  in  the  gravel.  Fabrizio  took 
her  hand. 

*  "  Don't  do  that,"  said  Estella ;  "  that  is  no  sport 
for  me."     Fabrizio  struck  his  forehead. 

*  "  Heaven  knows  what  it  is  to  me,  Estella  !  "  he 
said,  sighing  profoundly. 

' "  This  pig  is  about  to  propose  to  me,"  thought 
Estella,  and  looked  sulkily  at  the  ground. 

' "  You  consider  it  beneath  your  notice,  no  doubt," 
Fabrizio  pursued,  "  that  a  mere  lacquey  should  seek 
the  sympathies  of  a  virtuous  and  modest  young 
woman — for  however  humble  your  station,  such 
I  am  sure  you  are.  I  cannot  deny  your  feehng ;  yet 
I  entreat  you  to  consider  me  a  little  more  anxiously 
before  you  spurn  me  away." 

'  "  What  do  you  mean,  Fabrizio?  "  said  Estella, 
looking  at  him.     Fabrizio  took  her  hand  again. 

289  T 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

* "  I  am  not  what  I  appear,  Estella,  believe  it,' 
he  said.  "  Nothing  but  an  overmastering  pas 
sion " 

*  "  Heavens  !  "  said  Estella — but  he  went  on — 
"  combined  with  a  not  unreasonable  respect  for  my 
mother,  would  have  driven  me  to  the  condition  in 
which  I  find  myself." 

'  "  Is  this  your  case  indeed  ?  "  cried  Estella,  much 
interested.  "  Listen  then :  it  is  on  all-fours  with 
my  own.  Never  was  such  a  singular  thing.  I  also 
suffer  from  an  attachment  which  is  to  me  as  a  goad 
to  a  mule.  I  also,  I  assure  you,  am  very  far  from 
being  what  I  seem.  Like  you,  as  well  as  being  in 
love,  I  go  in  fear  of  my  father's  stick." 

*  Fabrizio  pressed  the  maid's  hand  tenderly. 
"  This  ought  to  draw  us  nearer  to  one  another,  dear 
Estella,"  he  said.     "  It  is  a  striking  case." 

*  "  It  would  be,  I  can  tell  you,"  Estella  agreed, 
*'  if  my  father's  stick  came  within  reach  of  my  back. 
I  suppose  you  have  the  same  feeling." 

' "  My  mother  uses  her  crutch,"  said  Fabrizio 
seriously.  *'  Dear  Estella,  I  could  find  it  in  my 
heart  to  declare  myself — did  I  not " 

'  "  I  beg  that  you  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said 
Estella  ;  "  there  is  no  knowing  what  might  come  of 
it.  My  own  affair  is  on  the  tip  of  my  tongue.  And 
surely  you  have  held  my  hand  long  enough." 

'  "  Ten  thousand  pardons,"  cried  Fabrizio  :  "  I 
had  forgotten  the  circumstance." 

290 


PERCIVAL   PERCEFOREST'S   TALE 

*  A  slight  noise  on  the  gravel  caused  the  two 
unfortunates  to  look  hastily  round  :  it  was  too  late ; 
Donna  Camilla  and  her  cousin  had  both  seen  the 
tender  situation.  The  former  turned  it  deftly  to 
serve  her  own  occasions.  "  Here,  cousin,"  she 
said,  "  are  our  servants  teaching  us  wisdom.  Your 
Fabrizio  knows  what  he  is  about." 

* "  It  seems  so  indeed,"  replied  Galeotto,  with 
a  needlessly  high  colour.  "  If  that  is  his  wisdom, 
he  shall  reap  the  reward  of  it  as  soon  as  you 
please.  I  knew  that  he  had  the  spirit  of  a  shrew- 
mouse  ;  but  Estella  must  be  an  expert.  A  pest 
on  him !     Let  her  have  him  by  all  means." 

*"Ah,  Galeotto,"  sighed  the  love-lorn  lady,  "that 
is  not  the  only  match  I  could  agree  to.  But  let 
the  example  be  complete.  Next  week  is  the  fair 
at  San-Pietro-in-Castello,  when,  as  perhaps  you 
know,  weddings,  for  a  day,  are  a  matter  of  hand- 
fasting  in  the  piazza.     Shall  we  send  in  these  two  ?  " 

*"If  Fabrizio's  tastes  are  in  that  quarter,"  said 
Galeotto  with  intention,  "  I  am  only  too  thankful 
to  have  known  it — and  to  indulge  him." 

*  Donna  Camilla  called  to  her  maid :  "  Come 
hither,  child." 

*  Estella  having  curtsied,  the  lady  patted  her 
cheek.  "  You  have  been  a  good  servant  to  me, 
Estella,"  says  she,  "  and  I  will  show  you  that  I  am 
not  ungrateful.     It  is  true,  I   had  intended  to  pro- 

291 


NEW   CANTERBURY  TALES 

mote  you  had  you  stayed  a  little  longer ;  but  having 
won  the  affection  of  an  honest  fellow  I  cannot  stand 
in  his  way." 

*  Estella  at  this  began  to  raise  a  voice — "  Oh,  my 
lady,  I  beg  of  you  !  Oh,  my  lady,  the  last  thought ! 
Oh,  my  lady !  "  and  so  on.  Here  was  a  pretty 
end  to  a  pretty  beginning !  but  Donna  Camilla 
pursued  her  benevolent  schemes. 

* "  Not  too  much  protest,  my  dear,"  she  said 
with  a  reproving  smile,  "  or  I  shall  think  the 
Signor  Conte  right  in  his  suspicions,  that  it  is  you 
who  have  led  on  poor  Fabrizio.  Look  at  him,  child, 
he  is  blushing  for  you.  No,  no.  He  shall  take  you 
to  good  San-Pietro,  and  I  will  see  that  you  have 
your  festa  in  proper  Venetian  fashion,  and  a  sound 
roof  to  your  heads  afterwards.  Meantime  you  shall 
spend  the  honeymoon  here." 

'  It  was  time,  Fabrizio  felt,  to  protest.  Very 
respectfully  he  approached  Donna  Camilla. 

'"Madonna,"  said  he,  "I  am  most  sensible, 
believe  me,  of  your  ladyship's  beneficence,  the 
grateful  acceptance  of  which  on  my  part  is  only 
prevented  by  the  conviction  of  my  own  unworthi- 
ness.  Madam,  between  this  amiable  young  person 
and  myself  there  is  a  barrier.  Madam,  as  I  have 
told  her  when  she  did  me  the  honour  to  offer  me 
her  person  and  heart,  I  am  not  what  I  must  seem 
to  your  ladyship." 

292 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE 

*  "  Nor  am  I,  my  lady,  I  assure  you !  "  put  in 
Estella ;  "  and  as  for  proposals — oh,  Madam,  if  you 
but  knew  how  impossible  is  the  thought !  " 

* "  I  appeal  to  my  master  !  "  cried  the  desperate 
Fabrizio.  Donna  Camilla,  unused  to  being 
thwarted,  frowned. 

' "  Fabrizio,"  said  his  master  with  decision. 
"  I  hope  that  there  has  been  no  trifling  with  this 
girl's  affections.  I  say  that  I  hope ;  but  a  very  few 
more  words  from  you  and  that  hope  will  be  faint. 
What  my  lady  proposes  is  becoming  to  one  so  high 
in  position,  so  charitable,  as  she.  You  shall  find 
that  I  am  not  behindhand.  My  mother's  urgent 
business  may  call  me  shortly  to  Mantua  ;  but  I  will 
see  to  your  establishment  first.  No  Galeotti  shall 
be  called  a  niggard  to  his  servants.  If  this  is 
your  first  affair  of  the  heart,  Fabrizio,  I  trust — nay 
I  will  see  to  it — that  it  is  the  last.  You  have  won 
a  young  woman  whom  the  Lady  Camilla  can  praise  : 
see  that  you  deserve  her.  Come,  cousin,  let  us 
leave  the  lovers  together."  He  offered  his  arm  to 
Donna  Camilla  and  led  her  away  :  they  left  behind 
them  a  very  tongue-tied  pair  indeed. 

*  Fabrizio  scattered  gravel,  Estella  scattered 
gravel.  Fabrizio  inquired  of  the  skies,  Estella  of 
the  more  solid  earth. 

*  **  If  it  were  not  for  my  mother,  young  woman 
"  Galeotto  began  ;  then  stopped. 

293 


NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

'  *'  If  it  wasn't  for  my  father,  my  fine  fellow " 

began  Estella  ;  then  swore. 

*  It  seemed  to  want  but  this  outbreak  on  the 
bride's  part  to  put  a  point  to  the  bridegroom's 
martyrdom. 

*  The  clouds  in  Mantua  gathered  so  fast  and  so 
black  that  any  sky  in  Venice  showed  light  by  the 
side  of  them.  The  Countess  Galeotti's  latest  letter 
may  be  cited. 

' "  Galeotto,"  she  wrote,  "if  neither  rehgion  nor 
filial  piety  can  move  you,  I  cannot  suppose  that 
the  fingers  of  the  civil  power  in  your  collar  may 
do  so.  You  have  abandoned  your  mother  to 
vicarious  punishment,  you  have  disgraced  an 
ancient  lady,  an  ancient  name.  Farewell.  Any 
letter  you  choose  to  send  me  should  be  addressed 
to  the  Gabbia.'^ 

*  The  Gabbia,  your  ladyships  should  know,  was 
an  iron  cage,  six  feet  by  six,  which  hung 
(and  still  hangs)  outside  a  tower  in  Mantua  fifty 
feet  above  the  street-level.  To  think  of  the  Con- 
tessa  Galeotti  in  it  was  to  think  of  birds ;  and  so 
Isotta,  when  she  read  this  terrible  letter,  made  a 
little  clicking  noise  with  her  tongue.  She  brought 
Donna  Camilla  to  her  side  in  haste;  but  Donna 
Camilla  was  not  one  to  stimulate  thought. 
Thought  just  then  was  urgent.  Isotta  made  her 
excuses  and  retired  to  pace  the  garden. 

294 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE 

'"What  is  to  be  done?"  she  said  to  herself. 
"  Here  is  an  old  lady  in  the  Gabbia,  for  no  fault 
but  maternity.  Here,  consequently  (since  this  out- 
rages our  common  humanity),  is  the  Gabbia  for 
Galeotto.  Does  he  deserve  so  much  ?  Surely  not. 
True,  he  thrust  his  adventure  upon  me,  killed  my 
father's  porter,  sent  me  in  disguise  to  Venice.  If 
any  one  deserves  the  cage  it  is  Galeotto.  But 
have  I  not  given  him  a  better,  a  more  deserved 
cage?  Have  I  not  contracted  him  to  a  servant- 
girl?  Will  not  that  be  punishment  enough  for 
a  Count  of  the  Empire?  I  hope  so;  I  think  so. 
It  will  teach  him,  at  least,  not  to  trifle  with  the 
affections  of  gentlewomen.  Very  well  then.  It 
follows  that  I  get  the  cage.  I  am  no  bird ;  I  have 
little  relish  for  it;  but  what  escape  is  there? 
Marriage  with  Donna  Camilla?  Yes:  that  is  the 
only  plan.  It  will  be  a  very  simple  affair.  She 
has  great  influence  with  the  Ten ;  the  Ten  are 
allies  of  the  Mantuan  State.  She  will  use  her 
influence;  but  not  unless  I  marry  her.  Spretce 
injuria  formcB,  is  how  Galeotto  would  explain  her 
refusal  which  would  certainly  come  plump  on  my 
refusal.  Once  married,  she  will  have  two  motives 
to  help  us — my  danger  and  her  own  dignity.  It 
is  agreed,  then,  that  I  marry  Donna  Camilla  at  the 
approaching  fair." 

As  fruit  of  this  self-communion  she  bore  a  formal 

295 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

proposal  of  her  hand  to  Donna  Camilla,  which  was 
tremulously  and  gratefully  accepted  by  the  lady. 

'The  sestiere  of  San-Pietro-in-Castello  lies  be- 
tween that  of  Saint  Mark  and  the  Lido.  It  was 
then  chiefly  populated  by  gondoliers  and  their 
families  and  enjoyed  a  singular  custom.  But  then 
it  had  been  the  scene  of  a  singular  event.  Centuries 
before,  the  Levantine  pirates  had  ravished  brides 
from  it ;  and  in  memory  of  that  picturesque  ceremony 
the  Castellani  claimed  and  held  the  same  privilege 
on  the  anniversary.  Any  man  could  marry  any 
woman  on  that  day,  and  many  most  effectively  did. 
Row  facing  row  they  lined  the  Piazza ;  the  maids 
stood  loose-haired  in  white,  each  with  her  dowry  in 
a  box  over  her  shoulder;  the  suitors  came  to  choose; 
the  Patriarch  gave  them  a  blessing  and  a  sermon  : 
they  were  married.  It  was  a  custom  of  plain 
advantage  to  others  besides  gondoliers  (an  easy  race); 
it  was  a  romantic  custom,  a  picturesque  custom ;  it 
was  at  once  simple,  secret,  and  unofficial.  Thus  it 
appealed  to  Donna  Camilla,  who  loved  romance,  and 
to  Isotta,  who  just  now  (in  her  character  of  Galeotto) 
aimed  at  simplicity.  Mixed  feelings  are  to  be 
expected  in  such  an  assembly  as  this,  emotions  as 
various  as  may  at  any  time  hold  sway  over  the 
human  breast ;  but  probably  Fabrizio  was  the  most 
rueful  bridegroom,  and  Estella  the  most  truculent 
bride,  San-Pietro-in-Castello  had  ever  collected  for 

296 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE 

benediction.  Donna  Camilla's  was  a  perfectly 
normal  case ;  as  for  the  apparent  Count  Galeotto, 
we  have  seen  what  a  firm  perception  of  the  logic  of 
events  characterized  that  distinguished  person. 

*  Desperate  efforts  were  made  by  the  unhappy 
Fabrizio  to  clear  himself.  He  essayed  the  lady  of 
his  election  and  the  lady  of  his  fate  ;  the  result  was 
chagrin  in  the  first  case,  wounded  pride  in  the 
second.  Isotta  declined  to  discuss  his  affairs.  She  did 
not  recognize  her  own  name ;  she  spoke  as  Galeotto 
Galeotti.  "  You  have  chosen,  Fabrizo,"  she  said, 
"  so  far  as  I  know,  a  perfectly  respectable  girl.  If 
a  porter  had  been  killed  for  a  sight  of  her  eyes,  for 
instance,  it  might  easily  have  been  her  own  father. 
I  congratulate  you  upon  your  choice,  and  feel  sure 
of  your  future."  Estella  seemed  to  take  no  interest 
in  the  approaching  ceremony.  When  he  asked  her, 
as  tenderly  as  he  could,  if  her  father  was  likely  to  be 
present,  to  his  great  surprise  she  grunted.  "  How 
would  you  like  your  mother  to  join  him  ? "  she 
asked  in  turn.  There  was  but  one  answer  to  this 
for  a  man  of  truth.  *'  My  dear  Estella,  I  should 
die,"  he  said,  deeply  moved.  **  Then  I  wish  she 
would  come,"  Estella  had  replied  :  an  extraordinarily 
heartless  reply.  He  painted  his  married  life  in  the 
gloomiest  colours  ;  but  then  so  did  the  bride  paint 
hers. 

*  The  maids  formed  up  in  a  long  row  of  white,  for 

297 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

all  the  world  like  a  snowy  chain  of  crocuses  hemming 
a  garden  path :  opposite  them  stood  their  grooms, 
sheepish,  shuffling  young  men  for  the  most  part,  but 
all  very  much  intent  on  the  business  in  hand.  When 
both  sermon  and  blessing  were  done.  Jack  took  his 
Gill,  or  Gill  her  Jack,  as  might  be ;  and  Fabrizio, 
feeling  that  something  was  required  of  the  Galeotti 
fibre  (even  though  smothered  up  in  fustian)  drew  his 
Estella's  arm  within  his  own  with  such  gallant 
observations  as  he  could  invent.  He  went  so  far  as 
to  salute  her  cheek,  but  met  with  neither  response 
nor  encouragement.  Donna  Camilla  received  her 
husband's  brisk  embrace  with  simple  gratitude ;  then 
the  whole  party  took  boat  for  the  Palazzo  Galeotti 
and  the  marriage  supper. 

*  That  was  felt  to  be,  by  two  of  the  four  at  least, 
the  latest  possible  moment  for  explanations. 
Unfortunately  the  moment  was  more  urgently 
required  by  three  officers  of  the  Secret  Police,  who 
demanded  by  name  Count  Galeotto  Galeotti,  and 
when  they  found  him  would  take  no  sort  of  denial. 
His  rank,  his  condition,  his  interesting  circumstances, 
youth,  the  influence  of  his  lady — nothing  could  stand 
against  the  facts  on  which  they  leaned.  The  Duke 
of  Mantua  was  in  alliance  with  the  Serene  Republic, 
the  Serene  Republic  ordered  her  ministers  to  convey 
Galeotto  to  the  Duke. 

*  "  My  lord,"  said  they,  "  the  barge  is  at  the  steps. 

298 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE 

We  must  ask  your  Excellency  to  give  himself  the 
trouble  to  enter  it.  If  your  Excellency's  lady  choose 
to  accompany  you  we  can  hardly  deny  her ;  but  it 
must  be  at  her  own  risk." 

'  "  I  dare  not  ask  you,  Camilla "  Isotta  began. 

***Ah,  you  dare  not  indeed,  Galeotto,  dearest 
husband,"  pleaded  the  lady,  "  unless  you  wish  to 
procure  my  death.  Nothing  can  separate  us  from 
this  moment  short  of  that." 

* "  I  have  not  the  heart  to  disprove  your  generous 
fallacy,  my  dear,"  said  her  husband.  "  Well  then, 
let  us  go.  Officer,  do  your  duty."  They  were 
cloaked  and  led  away  by  the  officers.  There  was  no 
scandal. 

'  Half  an  hour  afterwards  arrived  the  old  Contessa 
Galeotti,  dusty  and  terrible. 

*  "  Where  is  my  deplorable  son  ?  "  she  demanded 
fiercely  of  the  porter. 

*  *•  I  have  not  the  least  notion,  madam,"  he 
replied  ;  "  I  see  you  for  the  first  time." 

'  "  You  are  extremely  dull,"  said  the  Countess. 
**  I  am  the  Contessa  Galeotti." 

*  "  Then,  madam,"  the  porter  said,  "  I  can  satisfy 
you,  I  think.  Your  noble  son  is  in  the  police-boat 
with  his  wife,  going  chained  to  Mantua." 

'  "  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it,"  said  the  Contessa 
drily.  "  If  you  suppose  that  my  son  would 
take  a  wife  without    my  approval   you   know  very 

299 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 
little   of  him,  and   still   less   of  me.     Produce  my 


son." 


*  The  porter  was  confused.  "  Love  of  God, 
madam,"  he  said,  "  I  cannot  produce  your  honour- 
able son,  but  I  can  refer  you  to  his  man.  He  also 
has  been  married  to-day,  and  at  this  moment  is 
supping  with  his  wife." 

* "  Take  me  down  to  this  supper-party,"  said  the 
Contessa  grimly ;  "  I  know  how  to  deal  with  ser- 
vants." 

* "  I  can  well  believe  your  ladyship,"  said  the 
porter.     "  I  beg  your  ladyship  to  follow  me." 

*  The  tap-tap  of  her  crutch  struck  like  a  knell  on 
the  ears  of  the  unfortunate  Fabrizio,  disturbing  him 
in  the  midst  of  an  absorbing  conversation.  Much 
as  it  ran  counter  to  his  fine  theory  of  manners  he 
was  forced  to  interrupt  his  companion. 

"  '  My  dear  Eugenio,"  he  said  hurriedly,  "  if  that 
indeed  be  your  name,  yours  is  a  most  extraordinary 
case,  equal  with  mine  in  misfortune.  But  there  are 
worse  things  in  the  world  than  such  a  marriage  as 
ours,  and  one  of  them  (a  parent  offended)  is  close  at 
hand.  I  refer  to  the  approach  of  my  sainted 
mother." 

'"Zounds!"  said  Eugenio,  "is  that  her  famous 
crutch  ?  " 

'  "  I  fear  it,  I  fear  it,"  replied  the  perspiring  young 
man.     Eugenio  saw  that  he  certainly  did. 

300 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE 

*"Then  I'll  be  running,  my  lord,"  says  he;  but 
Galeotto  whipped  his  arms  round  his  middle. 

*  "  Let  me  entreat,  let  me  implore  your  counte- 
nance, Eugenio,"  he  said  warmly.  "  The  very 
gravest  consequences  are  to  be  feared " 

'  "  Let  me  go,  let  me  go  !  "  cried  Eugenio.  "  What 
the  devil  have  I  to  do  with  your  consequences  ? 
Do  you  think  I  don't  value  my  skin  as  much  as 
yours  ?  " 

*  It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  suggestive  struggle, 
that  the  Countess  appeared  at  the  door,  and  fixed 
her  piercing  eyes  on  what  she  witnessed. 

*  For  a  short  time  she  looked  terribly  on,  re- 
sembling most  a  wicked  old  bird  that  meditates 
attack,  and  holds  his  beak  half-open  for  the  pounce. 
The  detected  Galeotto  dropped  his  companion  as  if 
he  had  been  a  live  cinder. 

'  "  What  have  you  to  say  for  yourself?  "  asks  the 
Countess  in  a  dry  voice.  Galeotto  assumed  a  suffer- 
ing expression. 

* "  It  seems,  mamma  mia,"  said  he,  "  that  I  have 
accidently  married  this  young  gentleman." 

' "  You  are  the  greatest  fool  in  Europe,"  said  the 
Countess,  "  and  I  speak  as  the  widow  of  your  father. 
Pray,  in  what  capacity  do  you  stand  ?  "  As  husband 
or  wife  ?  " 

Galeotto  made  the  most  of  his  opening. 

* "  I  see  the  difficulty,"  he  said  as  dispassionately 

301 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

as  he  could.     "  It  is  a  very  real  one.     Eugenio,  my 
friend,  how  do  you  take  it  ?  " 

*  "  I  take  it  very  ill,"  said  Eugenio  sulkily  :  "  but 
I  agree  with  her  ladyship's  criticism." 

*  Galeotto  spread  out  his  hands.  "  You  see  how 
it  is,  mamma  mia,"  he  began.  The  Countess  cut 
him  short. 

* "  I  very  soon  shall,  I  assure  you,"  she  said. 
"  Somebody  has  gone  off  to  Mantua  masquerading  in 
your  name.  He  will  have  fresh  air  for  his  perform- 
ance, and  a  fine  auditorium ;  but  the  stage  is  limited. 

As   for    you,    little    turnspit "      She   faced    to 

Eugenio  ;  but  Eugenio  had  disappeared. 

"That  is  a  prudent  young  man,"  said  the 
Countess  :  "  there  may  be  hopes  of  him  yet.  Now, 
Galeotto,  my  bark  is  waiting  :  march.  But  I  must 
see  Donna  Camilla — where  is  your  cousin  ?  " 

' "  Mamma  mia,  she  should  be  in  the  saloon," 
said  Galeotto.  "  But  she  also  is  the  victim  of  cir- 
cumstances, having  to-day  married  Madonna  Isotta 
Beltraffi,  a  young  lady  of  great  personal  attractions. 
I  can  explain  these  unfortuate  events " 

* "  I  wish  you  could  explain  how  you  come  to  be 
my  son,"  said  the  Countess.  "That  is  the  most 
unfortunate  event  of  all,  to  my  mind."  She  turned 
to  the  porter,  "  Where  is  your  mistress  ?  "  she  asks 
him. 

*"  Madam,"  he  replied,  "  I  have  told  you  already 

302 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE 

that  she  is  gone  to  Mantua  with  my  lord  her 
husband.  It  appears  that  there  is  some  difficuhy 
there.  At  any  rate  my  mistress  is  accompanied  by 
three  of  the  Secret  PoHce." 

'  The  Contessa  looked  sharply  at  Galeotto,  whose 
face  showed,  of  sufferance  three  parts,  of  interest 
three  parts,  and  of  pain  six  parts. 

*  **  I  really  begin  to  believe  that  you  are  not  quite 
the  idiot  I  took  you  for,"  said  she.  "Go  before  me 
to  the  boat :  off  with  you." 

*  "  Benissimo,  mamma  mia,"  said  Galeotto. 

*  There  was  no  opportunity  for  discourse  between 
the  prisoners  upon  a  matter  so  delicate  as  the  sex 
of  Donna  Camilla's  husband  during  the  passage 
from  Venice  to  Mantua.  The  near  presence  of 
three  members  of  the  Secret  Police  would  have 
been  enough  to  maintain  Isotta's  reserve.  "  These 
honest  fellows,"  she  would  have  said,  "  behave  with 
Donna  Camilla  that  the  Count  Galeotti  has  been 
secured.  To  undeceive  them  now  would  be  heart- 
less ;  to  undeceive  my  wife  would  be  to  cause  her 
fruitless  distress.  How  could  I  deny  Donna  Camilla 
the  consolations  of  fidelity  ?  "  That  tender-hearted 
soul  sat  huddling  by  her  husband — cold,  dissolved  in 
tears,  shuddering  under  intermittent  attacks  of 
nerves,  never  far  from  hysterics,  buoyed  up  only  by 
the  thought  that  she  was  acting  the  pattern  wife. 
Over  and  over   again  she  assured   Isotta  that  she 

303 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

would  never  desert  her.  "  When  you  are  in  your 
airy  prison,  dearest,"  said  she,  "  I  shall  be  sitting 
on  the  ground  beneath  you.  I  shall  look  up  and 
see  the  soles  of  your  beloved  feet ;  you  will  look  down, 
and  (if  the  weather  be  favourable)  see  the  tears  in 
my  eyes.  A  great  deal  of  comfort  ought  to  pass 
from  one  to  another  in  this  way." 

*  "  I  am  sure  of  it,  Camilla,"  Isotta  replied.  "  But 
you  plan  is  almost  too  heroic  for  Mantua.  Consider, 
my  love,  the  Tower  of  the  Gabbia  is  situated  in  the 
Via  Broletto,  a  street  nearly  as  bustling  as  the 
Merceria  of  your  Venice.  It  connects  two  markets. 
It  is  the  highway  to  the  Castello  di  Corte.  My 
lodging  will  be  out  of  shot  of  the  passers-by,  but 
yours,  if  on  the  ground,  must  invite  comment.  How 
can  you  endure  it  ?  Or  how  can  I  be  witness  of 
what  you  will  have  to  bear  ?  " 

*  "  You  can  look  the  other  way,  dearest  Galeotto," 
she  said,  weeping,  "  and  I  can  mingle  tears  with 
the  Mantuans,  or  importune  the  Duke  as  he 
passes." 

' "  You  are  sanguine,  my  Camilla,"  said  Isotta 
with  resignation.     "  I  cannot  deny  you." 

'  A  searching  night-wind  blew  over  the  lagoon ; 
the  moonlight  revealed  little  curling  waves,  cold  and 
angry.  Camilla  and  Isotta  sat  cuddling  in  one 
cloak  until  the  former  fell  asleep  with  her  head  on 
her    companion's    shoulder.     One   of    the   officers, 

304 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE 

disturbed  by  Isotta's  sniffing,  handed  her  a  flask  of 
strong  waters, 

'"Thank  you,  my  friend,"  said  she.  "What 
sail  is  that  coming  up  behind  us  ?  They  will  over- 
haul us,  it  seems." 

*  "  That,  my  lord,"  said  the  man,  "  will  be  the 
Contessa's,  your  lady  mother's  family  barge. 
I  know  the  rig  of  that  lateen.  It  is  a  great 
stretch  of  cloth,  but  I  think  we  shall  hold  her 
yet." 

*  "  The  Contessa  !  "  thought  Isotta.  "  Then  she 
has  escaped  the  cage  ;  but  by  the  same  token  my 
poor  Fabrizio  has  not  escaped.  He  is  now  in  two 
cages,  his  wife's  and  his  mother's.  Obviously  I  do 
well  to  save  him  from  a  third."  So  musing,  she 
fell  asleep. 

*  The  police-boat  held  the  barge  throughout  the 
night,  and  in  the  early  hours  of  the  morning,  by 
stealing  what  wind  there  was  managed  not  only  to 
outsail  her,  but  very  dextrously  to  run  her  aground 
on  a  mud-bank.  There  she  had  to  await  the  tide 
while  the  lighter  vessel  was  skimming  the  silver 
stretches  of  the  Mantuan  lake,  with  the  red-walled 
city  in  full  sight.  By  the  time  the  Contessa 
Galeotti  was  at  home  again,  with  the  key  of 
Galeotto's  chamber  in  her  pocket,  Isotta  was 
admiring  the  view  from  the  top  of  the  Gabbia 
Tower  and  the  citizens  admiring   Donna   Camilla 

305  u 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

at  the  bottom  of  it.  It  was  open  to  the  iron-faced 
old  lady  to  join  them,  when  she  presently  came  in 
a  litter,  some  Archers  of  the  Guard  in  attendance, 
and  a  permit  to  visit  the  prisoner  in  her  hand.  But 
the  exhibition  of  Donna  Camilla  on  the  ground  did 
not  entertain  her. 

*  **  Who  is  this  natural  ?  "  she  asked  of  a  by- 
stander. 

* "  Eh,  madam,  who  knows  if  not  your  lady- 
ship ?  "  was  the  answer.  "  I  take  her  to  be  wife  of 
the  deplorable  gentleman  above." 

*  "  Wife  of  a  pig  ! ''  said  the  Countess  with  some 
heat.  "  Is  the  name  of  Galeotti  to  be  brayed  over 
Mantua  by  donkeys  ?  " 

*  Donna  Camilla,  hearing  her  own  name,  came 
forward  and  clasped  the  Contessa's  knees. 

*  "  I  adjure  you,  my  mother,  help  your  unfortunate 
son  !  "  she  cried. 

'  "  I  have  helped  him,"  said  the  Countess  grimly. 

* "  Mercy  shall  be  called  Galeotti  from  this 
hour.  You  will  save  him  from  the  cage,  I  know 
it." 

*  Donna  Camilla  rose  triumphant  from  her  griefs. 

*  "  On  the  contrary,  I  have  put  him  in  one,  young 
lady,"  said  the  Countess ;  "  and  am  now  going  to 
transfer  him  to  another."  Donna  Camilla  sat 
down. 

* "  You  have  a  heart  of  stone,"  said  she.     "  For 

306 


PERCIVAL   PERCEFOREST'S   TALE 

my  part  I  will  never  leave  this  spot  until  my 
husband  is  restored  to  my  arms." 

' "  Then  you  won't  leave  it  at  all,  my  lady," 
remarked  the  Countess,  chuckling.  She  went  into 
the  tower  and  left  Donna  Camilla  to  the  contem- 
plation of  Isotta's  footsoles. 

'  There  are  one  hundred  and  thirteen  steps  from 
the  ground  to  the  cage  door ;  but  the  Countess 
surmounted  them,  having  been  lent  by  rage  what 
breath  had  taken  away.  Rage  remained  though 
breath  did  not  when  the  prisoner  was  haled  out  at 
command,  and  revealed  to  the  panting  old  lady 
a  dark-skinned  slim  youth  (to  all  appearance),  very 
composed. 

*  The  Countess  was  not  composed.  "  Have  done 
with  this  mummery,"  she  snapped.  *'  You  are 
a  woman." 

'  "  It  is  hardly  for  your  ladyship  to  reproach  me 
with  that,"  Isotta  replied. 

* "  I  am  not  here  to  play  shuttlecock,"  said 
the  Countess.  "  What  is  the  meaning  of  this 
knavery  ?  " 

'  "  It  is  not  knavery,  but  logic  that  has  brought 
me  here,"  Isotta  observed,  "as  you  will  allow, 
madam,  if  you  listen  to  what  I  have  to  say." 

* "  Upon  my  word,  young  woman,"  said  the 
Countess,  "  if  you  can  make  that  good  I  shall  be 
interested.     Go  on." 

307 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

*  Isotta  told  the  whole  of  her  story,  concluding 
with  these  words  : — "  Your  son,  Countess,  has  acted 
throughout  in  what  I  must  call  a  spirit  of  levity. 
If  he  must  needs  kill  a  porter,  he  need  not  have 
killed  my  father's  favourite  porter.  But  why  kill 
a  porter  at  all  ?  He  might  have  asked  me  to  look 
out  of  the  window  :  I  should  certainly  have  obliged 
him.  But,  having  done  so,  having  gone  with  me  to 
Venice  with  professions  of  respect  on  his  lips,  what 
must  he  do  but  begin  a  vulgar  intrigue  with 
a  waiting  woman  ?  I  wished  to  punish  him  for 
that,  and  I  have  done  so.  You  suffer  also ;  I  regret 
it.  But  at  least  he  will  kill  no  more  porters,  and 
turn  the  heads  of  no  more  ladies.  His  wife  will  see 
to  that." 

'  "  His  mother  would  have  seen  to  it,"  said  the 
Countess.  "  My  dear,  you  have  reasoned 
admirably  up  to  your  point.  So  far  I  congratulate 
you.  But  you  have  married  my  son  to  a  young 
man.  Your  Estella  has  changed  sex  as  well  as 
you." 

'  "  Why  did  he  do  that  ?  "  asked  Isotta,  much 
interested. 

*  "  It  seems  that  he  had  a  thought  of  falling  in 
love  with  my  niece,  and  wished  to  judge  of  her 
domesticity,"  said  the  Countess. 

'  "  If  I  could  find  that  young  man,"  cried  Isotta, 
"  I  should  certainly  marry  him  myself." 

308 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE 

'■ "  You  are  not  likely  to  do  that,  my  friend," 
the  Countess  informed  her.  *'  Master  has 
bolted." 

* "  He  must  be  found,"  Isotta  said,  "  he  is  much 
to  ingenious  to  be  lost." 

'  The  Countess  took  her  hand. 

'"Marry  my  son,"  she  urged,  "you  will  be 
excellent  with  him.  I  am  getting  too  old  for  estate 
management :  I  need  a  steward.  I  do  hope  you 
will  think  of  it.  I  will  go  down  on  my  sound  knee 
if  you  insist,  although  I  would  much  rather 
not." 

*  "  I  would  oblige  you  without  such  a  condescen- 
tion,  dear  Countess,"  Isotta  assured  her,  **if  I  could 
see  my  way.  The  truth  is  that  I  have  no  sort  of 
interest  in  your  son  beyond  the  fact  that  your  son 
he  is.  But  I  will  think  of  it.  Meantime,  if  you  can 
have  me  extricated  from  this  place  I  shall  be  very 
much  obliged  to  you." 

*  *'  In  two  minutes  !  "  cried  the  Countess,  and  then 
and  there  wrote  a  letter  to  the  Duke. 

'  I  return  to  Galeotto,  left  under  lock  and  key  in 
palace  of  his  ancestors.  You  little  know  that 
gentleman  if  you  think  that  he  could  bring  himself 
to  remain  there.  Pacing  up  and  down  his  chamber, 
he  allowed  full  play  to  the  agitations  of  his  mind. 

*"  I  adore  my  mother,  not  only  as  the  source  of  my 
being,  but  as  a  moral  spectacle,"  he  told  himself. 

309 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

"  I  find  in  her  a  superior  order  of  mind,  a  force  of 
character  really  remarkable  in  a  woman.  Not  only 
respect,  reason  also,  counsels  me  to  remain  a  prisoner. 
But  the  question  arises,  can  I  let  the  beautiful  (if 
headstrong)  Isotta  suffer  for  my  fault,  because  she 
happens  to  stand  up  in  my  small-clothes  ?  Cruel 
in  intention  as  she  has  been  to  me,  the  thought  is 
unendurable.  She  is  no  doubt  at  this  moment  in  the 
Gabbia  on  a  capital  charge,  she  stands  within  the 
peril  of  the  law.  Either  she  must  be  released  or 
I  suffer  with  her.  It  is  plain  that,  while  the  former 
is  out  of  my  power,  the  latter  is  within  it.  I  must 
escape  from  this  house  and  place  myself  immediately 
below  the  cage.  It  is  a  hateful  prospect ;  but  the 
contemplation  of  her  charming  form  exposed  to  the 
contempt  of  the  very  birds  will  strengthen  me  for 
what  I  am  about  to  do.  It  must  never  be  said  of 
a  Galeotti  that  he  allowed  a  gentlewoman  to  suffer 
without  enduring  equal  pains  himself.  Nor  must 
I  forget  that  I  love  her.  My  mother  has  locked  the 
door,  and  quite  rightly,  since  she  wished  to  keep  me 
in.  I,  with  equal  propriety,  will  essay  the  window, 
since  I  wish  to  get  out." 

*  He  dressed  himself  with  pains  in  a  suit  of  rich 
green  velvet,  arranged  his  hair,  put  on  a  pair  of  scarlet 
shoes,  and  then  by  means  of  a  gutter,  some  cords 
and  a  small  section  of  the  litany  reached  the  ground 
in    safety.       He    was    not    long    cutting   his   way 

310 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE 

through  the  crowds  in  the  Via  Broletto  and  so  being 
seen  by  Donna  Camilla.  To  her,  who  had  nearly 
exhausted  her  comments  upon  the  melancholy 
situation,  his  appearance  acted  like  the  rod  of  Moses. 
Eloquence  gushed  from  her ;  she  rose  to  address  the 
attentive  citizens.  "  See  in  this,  Mantuans,"  she 
declared,  "  a  deed  worthy  of  Roman  record. 
Behold  the  faithful  servant  of  a  good  master ! 
Rejoice  all  of  you,  masters,  and  take  heart  all  you 
servants ;  for  where  there  is  one  there  may  be 
another.  Fabrizio,  Fabrizio,  jocund  is  the  ministry 
of  thy  feet !  An  honest  lacquey  has  been  a  con- 
tradiction in  terms  until  by  this  glorious  example 
thou  hast  affirmed  it." 

* "  Madam,"  said  Galeotto,  taking  a  seat  beside 
her  on  the  ground,  "  it  is  true  that  I  have  come  to 
suffer  in  this  place,  thinking  myself  happy  to  be 
where  my  duty  binds  me.  It  is  true  that  I  hope  by 
this  means  to  alleviate  the  pains  of  the  martyr  above 
us.  But  I  dare  not  pretend  to  the  splendid  office 
you  propose  me.  Madam,  I  am  no  servant,  I  am  no 
Fabrizio ;  I  am  your  unhappy,  your  afflicted  cousin 
Galeotto  Galeotti.' " 

'  Donna  Camilla  gasped — "  But  my  husband " 

•"Cousin,"  said  Galeotto,  "we  are  performing 
paradoxes,  it  seeems.  Your  husband,  if  I  may  say 
so,  has  to  name  Isotta  Beltraffi.  He,  or  rather  she, 
is  daughter  to  a  respectable  merchant  of  this  place, 

311 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

Messer  Domenico  Beltraffi,  whose  favourite  porter 
I  had  the  misfortune  to  kill." 

* "  Is  it  so  ?  "  cried  Donna  Camilla.  "  Then  my 
husband  is  innocent !  "  She  could  only,  as  you  see, 
take  one  point  at  a  time. 

* "  She  is  as  innocent  as  you  are,"  replied 
Galeotto.  "  It  is  I  who  should  occupy  her  room ; 
but  since  I  cannot  do  that  I  have  put  myself  as  near 
to  it  as  I  can.  This  ground  is  very  damp :  it  will 
endanger  my  health  fully  as  much  as  the  cage  could 
do.  But  I  deemed  it  my  duty.  Moreover,  I  am 
close  at  hand  in  case  it  should  occur  to  the 
authorities  to  arrest  me." 

*  *'  You  have  done  a  very  noble  act,  Galeotto," 
said  Donna  Camilla,  warmly. 

*  "  I  hope  so,  I  hope  so,"  he  returned.  "  I  could 
do  no  less,  Camilla.  The  lady  above  us  has  done 
a  noble  act ;  you  have  done  a  noble  act.  Noble 
acts  are  in  the  air." 

"'They  are,  indeed,"  she  assented.  "But  what 
have  you  done  with  my  Estella  ?  Is  she  acting  nobly 
anywhere  ?  " 

' "  I  doubt  it,"  said  Galeotto.  "  The  acts  of 
Estella  (since  you  call  him  so)  have  been  charac- 
terized by  prudence  rather  than  gallantry.  He  did 
not  accompany  me  from  Venice.      But  I  see  that 

I  surprise  you.     Know  then "    And  he  explained 

the    nature     of    his    marriage    to    the    astonished 

312 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFORESTS  TALE 

lady,  who,    when    she    had    sufficiently   recovered, 
said — 

'  "  One  thing  is  clear  to  me  in  all  this  entangle- 
ment. Madam  Isotta  must  be  released.  You  did 
the  deed;  you  must  suffer." 

*  "  Eh,"  cried  Galeotto,  "  but  I  am  suffering  !  " 

*  "  I  had  hoped,"  said  Donna  Camilla,  "  that  my 
company  might  have  distracted  you.  But  if  it  does 
not,  I  must  again  admire  your  heroic  resolution 
to  undergo  without  flinching  whatever  may  be 
due." 

'Galeotto  kissed  her  hand,  and  the  citizens 
cheered  the  exalted  pair. 

*  A  messenger  from  the  Duke  very  shortly  after- 
wards brought  down  the  Countess  with  Isotta.  The 
order  was  for  the  whole  company  to  appear  before 
him.     The  Countess  surveyed  her  son. 

*"What  are  you  doing  here,  jackanapes?"  she 
asked. 

"  I  am  suffering,  mamma  mia,"  he  replied,  "  on 
account  of  the  injured  lady  whose  arm  you  now  so 
kindly  hold." 

*  "  The  kindness,"  said  the  Contessa,  "  is  all  the 
other  way.  She  might  hold  the  Duke's  arm  with 
condescension.  Get  up,  idiot,  we  are  summoned 
to  Court.  Come  and  explain  yourself  if  you 
can." 

*  She  hobbled  off  on  Isotta's  arm ;  and  Galeotto, 

Z^3 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

offering  his  to    Donna   Camilla,  found   it   tenderly 
accepted. 

*  The  whole  matter  was  laid  before  Duke  Guido 
Gonzaga,  who  had  some  difficulty  in  singling  out 
what  was,  after  all,  the  real  point  at  issue.  He 
found  himself  very  unwilling  to  accept  Galeotto's 
excuse  for  his  precipitate  action,  and  it  was  only 
when  he  elicited  in  casual  conversation  the  facts 
that  (i)  the  porter  had  jostled  against  the  Count  in 
the  Via  Larga,  (2)  that  a  friar  of  the  bystanders  had 
laughed,  and  that  (3)  the  porter  was  not  dead,  that 
he  felt  at  Hberty  to  consider  the  case  as  one  of  justifi- 
able potential  homicide,  for  which  the  Statute  Book 
of  Mantua  exacted  no  penalty.  After  that  all  other 
difficulties  seemed  light.  Turning  to  the  Countess 
he  said,  "  It  is  clear,  madam,  that  all  these  persons 
are  married  by  the  laws  of  Venice.  Venice  being  in 
alhance  with  Mantua,  it  becomes  me  to  see  that  her 
laws  are  observed.  This  I  will  do,  with  such 
latitude,  however,  as  may  reasonably  be  allowed  to 
a  sovereign  prince.  I  must  regard  Madonna  Isotta 
as  the  protagonist  in  this  drama.  She  must  come 
first.  To  Madonna  Isotta  therefore  I  offer  the  hand 
and  heart  of  Count  Galeotto  Galeotti." 

'"I  humbly  thank  your  Grace,"  said  Isotta; 
**  but  we  choose  as  our  characters  make  us.  A  man 
who  could  be  such  a  fool  as  to  endanger  his  neck 
twice  for  my  sake  is  clearly  no  husband  for  a  girl  of 

314 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE 

my  habit.  I  must  gratefully  decline  your  Grace's 
offer  and  transfer  Messer  Galeotto  to  the  care  of 
Donna  Camilla.  I  consider,  on  the  other  hand, 
Eugenio  to  be  a  youth  of  prudence  and  great 
promise.  If  I  can  find  him  I  shall  certainly  do  my 
best  to  possess  him." 

* "  I  shall  yet  congratulate  Eugenio,"  said  the 
Countess,  "  on  a  wife  of  sense." 

*  "  What  do  you  say,  Donna  Camilla  ?  "  asked  the 
Duke. 

*  Donna  Camilla  had  been  very  much  struck  by 
her  cousin's  chivalry  in  the  affair.  Especially  this 
latest  act  of  his  had  moved  her  admiration. 

*  "  It  was  very  fine  in  him,"  she  declared.  **  The 
cage  must  necessarily  be  draughty,  and  I  under- 
stand his  chest  is  delicate.  I  should  be  proud  to 
become  the  wife  of  such  a  man." 

*  So  it  was  put  to  Galeotto,  who  replied  as  you 
would  expect,  that  he  was  at  the  service  of  these 
ladies. 

*  Eugenio  was  not  found  for  some  six  months, 
though  Isotta  hunted  him  high  and  low.  Finally 
he  was  reported  at  Battaglia,  where  indeed  he  was 
discovered  acting  as  dry-nurse  to  a  wine-grower's 
young  family,  passing  by  the  name  of  Beppina,  and 
a  general  favourite.  When  Isotta  claimed  him 
there  was  a  momentary  confusion  inasmuch  as 
several  townsmen  of  substance  (one  being  notary- 

315 


NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

public)  had  aspired  to  his  hand ;  but  there  was  no 
withstanding  facts.  Isotta  led  him  to  Mantua, 
married  him,  and  treated  him  with  kindly  firmness 
for  many  years.  He  had  no  cause  to  lament  her 
choice,  although  he  was  never  able  to  share  her 
cordial  appreciation  of  the  Contessa. 

*  That  same  Contessa  Galeotti  lived  to  a  frosty 
old  age.  Her  syllogisms  upon  the  facts  recorded — 
— the  result  of  a  long  observation  of  our  species, 
more  remarkable,  perhaps,  for  shrewdness  than 
a  nice  understanding  of  the  system  of  Aristotle 
— may  be  thus  expressed.  They  are  two  in 
number  : — 

'  a.  All  men  are  fools.  But  my  son  is  a  great 
fool.     Therefore,  my  son  is  a  great  man. 

*^.  All  men  are  fools.  But  Eugenio  is  no  fool. 
Therefore,  Eugenio  is  not  a  man  at  all.' 

This  truly  remarkable  tale,  which  was  followed 
with  the  closest  interest  by  the  party — each  feeling 
that  he  or  she  might  be  touched  in  some  secret  part 
or  other, — lasted  well  on  towards  supper-time.  It 
was  not  ended,  indeed,  until  our  pilgrims  were 
within  the  Prior's  parlour  at  Christchurch,  and 
within  the  fragrant  aura  of  the  great  Saint  whom 
they  had  sought  for  so  many  days.  Here,  regret- 
fully, I  must  leave  them,  for  my  pen  is  dry.  There 
was   much    for    them  to  do  besides  their   prayers. 

316 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST^S  TALE 

The  Prioress  was  to  be  shown  that  Piers  was 
not  Piers,  but  Percival ;  the  Shipman  convinced 
that  Percival  was  not  Jenny  Perceforest ;  Captain 
Brazenhead  was  to  be  either  hanged  or  ennobled ; 
Percival  himself  either  kissed  or  kicked.  But  so 
it  is  in  this  world,  that  we  cannot  have  everything. 
We  meet  with  persons  here  and  there  on  our 
pilgrimages ;  we  get  entertainment  out  of  them,  or 
they  out  of  us.  They  go  their  ways,  we  go  ours. 
At  any  rate,  I  muFt  go  mine.     Valctc. 


317 


BY    MAURICE    HEWLETT 

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MACMILLAN  AND  CO.,  Ltd.    LONDON. 


// 

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